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THE  PROBLEM  OF  FREEDOM. 

THE  TEACHER  AND  OTHER  ESSAYS  AND  AD- 
DRESSES ON  EDUCATION.  By  George  H.  Palmer 
and  Alice  Freeman  Palmer. 

THE  LIFE  OF  ALICE  FREEMAN  PALMER.  With 
Portraits  and  Views.  New  Edition. 

THE  ENGLISH  WORKS  OF  GEORGE  HERBERT. 
Newly  arranged  and  annotated,  and  considered  in  rela- 
tion to  his  life,  by  G.  H.  Palmer.  Second  Edition.  In 
3  volumes.  Illustrated. 

THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS. 
THE  FIELD  OF  ETHICS. 

THE  ODYSSEY  OF  HOMER.  Books  I-XII.  The 
Text  and  an  English  Prose  Version. 

THE  ODYSSEY.  Complete.  An  English  Translation 
in  Prose. 

THE  ANTIGONE  OF  SOPHOCLES.  Translated  into 
English.  With  an  Introduction, 

A  SERVICE  fN  MEMORY  OF  ALICE  FREEMAN 
PALMER.  Edited  by  George  H.  Palmer.  With  Ad- 
dresses by  James  B.  Angell,  Caroline  Hazard,  W.  J. 
Tucker,  and  Charles  W.  Elk*.  With  Portraits. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 


THE 


NATURE    OF    GOODNESS 


BY 
GEORGE  HERBERT  PALMER 

ALFORD  PROFESSOR  OF  PHILOSOPHY 
IN  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY 


BOSTON   AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
Rtoerjrtbe  prcaj*  Cambridge 


COPYRIGHT,    1903,    BT  GEORGE  HERBERT  PALMER 
ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  November,  1903 


A.  F.  P. 

BONITATE  SINGULARI  MULTI8  DILECTAE 

VENUSTATE  LITTERIS  CON81LIIS  PRAESTANTI 

NUPER  E  DOMO  ET  GAUDIO  MEO  EREPTAE 


PREFACE 

THE  substance  of  these  chapters  was  de- 
livered as  a  course  of  lectures  at  Harvard 
University,  Dartmouth  and  Wellesley  Col- 
leges, Western  Reserve  University,  the  Uni- 
versity of  California,  and  the  Twentieth  Cen- 
tury Club  of  Boston.  A  part  of  the  sixth 
chapter  was  used  as  an  address  before  the 
Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Harvard,  and  an- 
other part  before  the  Philosophical  Union  of 
Berkeley,  California.  Several  of  these  audi- 
ences have  materially  aided  my  work  by  their 
searching  criticisms,  and  all  have  helped  to 
clear  my  thought  and  simplify  its  expression. 
Since  discussions  necessarily  so  severe  have 
been  felt  as  vital  by  companies  so  diverse,  I 
venture  to  offer  them  here  to  a  wider  audi- 
ence. 

Previously,  in  "The  Field  of  Ethics,"  I 
marked  out  the  place  which  ethics  occupies 


viii  PREFACE 

among  the  sciences.  In  this  book  the  first 
problem  of  ethics  is  examined.  The  two  vol- 
umes will  form,  I  hope,  an  easy  yet  serious  in- 
troduction to  this  gravest  and  most  perpetual 
of  studies. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   DOUBLE   ASPECT   OF  GOODNESS 

I.   Difficulties  of  the  investigation 3 

II.   Gains  to  be  expected 8 

III.  Extrinsic  goodness 10 

IV.  Imperfections  of  extrinsic  goodness 15 

V.   Intrinsic  goodness 16 

VI.   Relations  of  the  two  kinds 19 

VII.   Diagram 22 

CHAPTER  II 

MISCONCEPTIONS   OF  GOODNESS 

I.   Enlargement  of  the  diagram 31 

II.   Greater  and  lesser  good 36 

III.  Higher  and  lower  good 37 

IV.  Order  and  wealth 40 

V.   Satisfaction  of  desire 44 

VI.    Adaptation  to  environment 46 

VII.   Definitions 61 

CHAPTER  III 

SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS 

I.   The  four  factors  of  personal  goodness  ....  67 

II.   Unconsciousness 60 

III.  Reflex  action                                                       .  65 


x  CONTENTS 

IV.   Conscious  experience 68 

V.   Self-consciousness 69 

VI.   Its  degrees 75 

VII.   Its  acquisition 77 

VIII.   Its  instability 80 


CHAPTER  IV 

SELF-DIRECTION 

I.   Consciousness  a  factor 89 

II.   (A)  The  intention 92 

III.  (1)  The  end,  aim,  or  ideal 93 

IV.  (2)  Desire 96 

V.    (3)  Decision 101 

VI.  (B)  The  volition 102 

VII.    (1)  Deliberation 104 

VIII.   (2)  Effort 106 

IX.   (3)  Satisfaction 113 

CHAPTER  V 

SELF-DEVELOPMENT 

1.   Reflex  influence  of  self-direction 119 

II.   Varieties  of  change 120 

III.  Accidental  change 122 

IV.  Destructive  change 122 

V.    Transforming  change 125 

VI.    Development 126 

VII.   Self-development 130 

VIII.   Method  of  self-development 133 

IX.    Test  of  self-development 137 

X.   Actual  extent  of  personality 139 

XI.   Possible  extent  of  personality 144 

XII.   Practical  consequences 146 


CONTENTS  xi 
CHAPTER  VI 

SELF-SACRIFICE 

I.    Difficulties  of  the  conception 151 

II.    It  is  impossible 154 

III.  It  is  a  sign  of  degradation 155 

IV.  It  is  needless 156 

V.    It  is  irrational 158 

VI.   Its  frequency 159 

VII.    Definition 164 

VIII.    Its  rationality 166 

IX.    Distinguished  from  culture 173 

X.    Its  self-assertion 175 

XI.    Its  incalculability 179 

XII.   Its  positive  character 183 

XIII.   Conclusion 185 

CHAPTER  VII 

NATURE   AND    SPIRIT 

I.    Summary  of  the  preceding  argument  ....  191 

II.    Spirit  superior  to  nature 193 

III.  Naturalistic  tendency  of  the  fine  arts  ....  195 

IV.  Naturalistic  tendency  of  science  and  philosophy  200 
V.    Naturalism  in  social  estimates 202 

VI.    Self-consciousness  burdensome 204 

VII.    Impossibility  of  full  conscious  guidance   .     .     .  207 

VIII.   Advantages  of  unconscious  action 210 

\ 

CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   THREE   STAGES   OF   GOODNESS 

I.    Advantage  of  conscious  guidance 219 

II.   Example  of  piano-playing 224 


xii  CONTENTS 

III.  The  mechanization  of  conduct 226 

IV.  Contrast  of  the  first  and  third  stages  ....  233 
V.  The  cure  for  self-consciousness 238 

VI.  The  revision  of  habits 239 

VII.  The  doctrine  of  praise 240 

VIII.  The  propriety  of  praise .  246 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 


THE    DOUBLE    ASPECT    OF    GOODNESS 


IN  undertaking  the  following  discussion  I 
foresee  two  grave  difficulties.  My  reader  may 
well  feel  that  goodness  is  already  the  most 
familiar  of  all  the  thoughts  we  employ,  and 
yet  he  may  at  the  same  time  suspect  that  there 
is  something  about  it  perplexingly  abstruse 
and  remote.  Familiar  it  certainly  is.  It  at- 
tends all  our  wishes,  acts,  and  projects  as 
nothing  else  does,  so  that  no  estimate  of  its 
influence  can  be  excessive.  When  we  take  a 
walk,  read  a  book,  make  a  dress,  hire  a  ser- 
vant, visit  a  friend,  attend  a  concert,  choose  a 
wife,  cast  a  vote,  enter  into  business,  we  al- 
ways do  it  in  the  hope  of  attaining  something 
good.  The  clue  of  goodness  is  accordingly  a 
veritable  guide  of  life.  On  it  depend  actions 


4  THE  NATURE   OF  GOODNESS 

far  more  minute  than  those  just  mentioned. 
"We  never  raise  a  hand,  for  example,  unless 
with  a  view  to  improve  in  some  respect  our 
condition.  Motionless  we  should  remain  fo' 
ever,  did  we  not  believe  that  by  placing  the 
hand  elsewhere  we  might  obtain  something 
which  we  do  not  now  possess.  Consequently 
we  employ  the  word  or  some  synonym  of  it 
during  pretty  much  every  waking  hour  of  our 
lives.  Wishing  some  test  of  this  frequency 
I  turned  to  Shakespere,  and  found  that  he 
uses  the  word  "good"  fifteen  hundred  times, 
and  its  derivatives  "goodness,"  "better,"  and 
"  best,"  about  as  many  more.  He  could  not 
make  men  and  women  talk  right  without  in- 
cessant reference  to  this  directive  conception. 
But  while  thus  familiar  and  influential  when 
mixed  with  action,  and  just  because  of  that 
very  fact,  the  notion  of  goodness  is  bewilder- 
ingly  abstruse  and  remote.  People  in  general 
do  not  observe  this  curious  circumstance. 
Since  they  are  so  frequently  encountering 
goodness,  both  laymen  and  scholars  are  apt 
to  assume  that  it  is  altogether  clear  and  re- 
quires no  explanation.  But  the  very  reverse 
is  the  truth.  Familiarity  obscures.  It  breeds] 
instincts  and  not  understanding.  So  inwoven 


THE  DOUBLE  ASPECT  OF  GOODNESS         5 

has  goodness  become  with  the  very  web  of 
life  that  it  is  hard  to  disentangle.  We  cannot 
easily  detach  it  from  encompassing  circum- 
stance, look  at  it  nakedly,  and  say  what  in 
itself  it  really  is.  Never  appearing  in  practi- 
cal affairs  except  as  an  element,  and  always 
intimately  associated  with  something  else,  we 
are  puzzled  how  to  break  up  that  intimacy  and 
give  to  goodness  independent  meaning.  It  is 
as  if  oxygen  were  never  found  alone,  but  only 
in  connection  with  hydrogen,  carbon,  or  some 
other  of  the  eighty  elements  which  compose 
our  globe.  We  might  feel  its  wide  influence, 
but  we  should  have  difficulty  in  describing 
what  the  thing  itself  was.  Just  so  if  any 
chance  dozen  persons  should  be  caUed  on  to 
say  what  they  mean  by  goodness,  probably 
not  one  could  offer  a  definition  which  he  would 
be  willing  to  hold  to  for  fifteen  minutes. 

It  is  true,  this  strange  state  of  things  is  not 
peculiar  to  goodness.  Other  familiar  concep- 
tions show  a  similar  tendency,  and  just  about 
in  proportion,  too,  to  their  importance.  Those 
which  count  for  most  in  our  lives  are  least! 
easy  to  understand.  What,  for  example,  do 
we  mean  by  love?  Everybody  has  experi- 
enced it  since  the  world  began.  For  a  cen- 


6  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

tury  or  more,  novelists  have  been  fixing  our 
attention  on  it  as  our  chief  concern.  Yet  no- 
body has  yet  succeeded  in  making  the  matter 
quite  plain.  What  is  the  state?  Socialists 
are  trying  to  tell  us,  and  we  are  trying  to  tell 
them ;  but  each,  it  must  be  owned,  has  about 
as  much  difficulty  in  understanding  himself 
as  in  understanding  his  opponent,  though  the 
two  sets  of  vague  ideas  still  contain  reality 
enough  for  vigorous  strife.  Or  take  the  very 
simplest  of  conceptions,  the  conception  of 
force  —  that  which  is  presupposed  in  every 
species  of  physical  science  ;  ages  are  likely  to 
pass  before  it  is  satisfactorily  defined.  Now 
the  conception  of  goodness  is  something  of 
this  sort,  something  so  wrought  into  the  total 
framework  of  existence  that  it  is  hidden 
from  view  and  not  separately  observable.  We 
know  so  much  about  it  that  we  do  not  under- 
stand it. 

For  ordinary  purposes  probably  it  is  well  not 
to  seek  to  understand  it.  Acquaintance  with 
the  structure  of  the  eye  does  not  help  seeing. 
To  determine  beforehand  just  how  polite  we 
should  be  would  not  facilitate  human  inter- 
course. And  possibly  a  completed  scheme  of 
goodness  would  rather  confuse  than  ease  our 


THE  DOUBLE  ASPECT  OF  GOODNESS         1 

daily  actions.  Science  does  not  readily  con- 
nect with  life.  For  most  of  us  all  the  time, 
and  for  all  of  us  most  of  the  time,  instinct  is 
the  better  prompter.  But  if  we  mean  to  be 
ethical  students  and  to  examine  conduct  sci- 
entifically, we  must  evidently  at  the  outset 
come  face  to  face  with  the  meaning  of  good- 
ness. I  am  consequently  often  surprised  on 
looking  into  a  treatise  on  ethics  to  find  no 
definition  of  goodness  proposed.  The  author 
assumes  that  everybody  knows  what  goodness 
is,  and  that  his  own  business  is  merely  to 
point  out  under  what  conditions  it  may  be 
had.  But  few  readers  do  know  what  good- 
ness is.  One  suspects  that  frequently  the 
authors  of  these  treatises  themselves  do  not, 
and  that  a  hazy  condition  of  mind  on  this 
central  subject  is  the  cause  of  much  loose  talk 
afterwards.  At  any  rate,  I  feel  sure  that  no- 
thing can  more  justly  be  demanded  of  a  writer 
on  ethics  at  the  beginning  of  his  undertaking 
than  that  he  should  attempt  to  unravel  the 
subtleties  of  this  all-important  conception. 
Having  already  in  a  previous  volume  marked 
out  the  Field  of  Ethics,  I  believe  I  cannot 
wisely  go  on  discussing  the  science  that  I  love, 
until  I  have  made  clear  what  meaning  I  every- 


8  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

where  attach  to  the  obscure  and  familiar  word 
good.  This  word  being  the  ethical  writer's 
chief  tool,  both  he  and  his  readers  must  learn 
its  construction  before  they  proceed  to  use  it. 
To  the  study  of  that  curious  nature  I  dedicate 
this  volume. 

II 

To  those  who  join  in  the  investigation  I 
cannot  promise  hours  of  ease.  The  task  is  an 
arduous  one,  calling  for  critical  discernment 
and  a  kind  of  disinterested  delight  in  study- 
ing the  high  intricacies  of  our  personal  struc- 
ture. My  readers  must  follow  me  with  care, 
and  indeed  do  much  of  the  work  themselves, 
I  being  but  a  guide.  For  my  purpose  is  not\ 
so  much  to  impart  as  to  reveal.  Wishing 
merely  to  make  people  aware  of  what  has 
always  been  in  their  minds,  I  think  at  the 
end  of  my  book  I  shall  be  able  to  say,  "  These 
readers  of  mine  know  now  no  more  than  they 
did  at  the  beginning."  Yet  if  I  say  that,  I 
hope  to  be  able  to  add,  "  but  they  see  vastly 
more  significance  in  it  than  they  once  did, 
and  henceforth  will  find  the  world  interesting 
in  a  degree  they  never  knew  before."  In 
attaining  this  new  interest  they  will  have  ex- 


THE  DOUBLE  ASPECT  OF  GOODNESS         9 

perienced  too  that  highest  of  human  pleasures,! 
—  the  joy  of  clear,  continuous,  and  energetic) 
thinking.  Few  human  beings  are  so  inert 
that  they  are  not  ready  to  look  into  the  dark 
places  of  their  minds  if,  by  doing  so,  they 
can  throw  light  on  obscurities  there. 

I  ought,  however,  to  say  that  I  cannot 
promise  one  gain  which  some  of  my  readers 
may  be  seeking.  In  no  large  degree  can  I 
induce  in  them  that  goodness  of  which  we 
talk.  Some  may  come  to  me  in  conscious 
weakness,  desiring  to  be  made  better.  But 
this  I  do  not  undertake.  My  aim  is  a  scien- 
tific one.  I  am  an  ethical  teacher.  I  want 
to  lead  men  to  understand  what  goodness  is, 
and  I  must  leave  the  more  important  work  of 
attracting  them  to  pursue  it  to  preacher  and 
moralist.  Still,  indirectly  there  is  moral  gain 
to  be  had  here.  One  cannot  contemplate  long 
such  exalted  themes  without  receiving  an  im- 
pulse, and  being  lifted  into  a  region  where 
doing  wrong  becomes  a  little  strange.  When, 
too,  we  reflect  how  many  human  ills  spring 
from  misunderstanding  and  intellectual  ob- 
scurity, we  see  that  whatever  tends  to  illu- 
minate mental  problems  is  of  large  conse- 
quence in  the  practical  issues  of  life. 


10  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

In  considering  what  we  mean  by  goodness, 
we  are  apt  to  imagine  that  the  term  applies 
especially,  possibly  entirely,  to  persons.  It 
seems  as  if  persons  alone  are  entitled  to  be 
called  good.  But  a  little  reflection  shows 
that  this  is  by  no  means  the  case.  There  are 
about  as  many  good  things  in  the  world  as 
good  persons,  and  we  are  obliged  to  speak  of 
them  about  as  often.  The  goodness  which 
we  see  in  things  is,  however,  far  simpler  and 
more  easily  analyzed  than  that  which  appears 
in  persons.  It  may  accordingly  be  well  in 
these  first  two  chapters  to  say  nothing  what- 
ever about  such  goodness  as  is  peculiar  to 
persons,  but  to  confine  our  attention  to  those 
phases  of  it  which  are  shared  alike  by  persons 
and  things. 

Ill 

How  then  do  we  employ  the  word  "good  "? 
I  do  not  ask  how  we  ought  to  employ  it,  but 
how  we  do.  For  the  present  we  shall  be 
engaged  in  a  psychological  inquiry,  not  an 
ethical  one.  We  need  to  get  at  the  plain 
facts  of  usage.  I  will  therefore  ask  each 
reader  to  look  into  his  own  mind,  see  on  what 
occasions  he  uses  the  word,  and  decide  what 


THE  DOUBLE  ASPECT  OF  GOODNESS       11 

meaning  he  attaches  to  it.  Taking  up  a  few 
of  the  simplest  possible  examples,  we  will 
through  them  inquire  when  and  why  we  call 
things  good. 

Here  is  a  knife.     When  is  it  a  good  knife  ? 
Why,  a  knife  is  made   for   something,  for 
cutting.     Whenever  the  knife  slides  evenlyN 
through  a  piece  of  wood,  unimpeded  by  any- 
thing in  its  own  structure,  and  with  a  minimum 
of  effort  on  the  part  of  him  who  steers  it,  when   \ 
there  is  no  disposition  of  its  edge  to  bend  or 
break,  but  only  to  do  its  appointed  work  effec- 
tively, then  we  know  that  a  good  knife  is  a,t^\ 
work.     Or,  looking  at  the  matter  from  anotherX 
point  of  view,  whenever  the  handle  of  the  » 
knife  neatly  fits  the  hand,  following  its  lines 
and  presenting  no  obstruction,  so  that  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  use  it,  we  may  say  that  in  these  ^\ 
respects  also  the  knife  is  a  good  knife.     That 
is,  the  knife  becomes  good  through  adaptation 
to  its  work,  an  adaptation  realized  in  its  cleav- 
age of  the  wood  and  in  its  conformity  to 
hand.     Its  goodness  always  has  reference  to\ 
something  outside  itself,  and  is  measured  by  I  " 
its  performance  of  an  external  task.     A  sim- 
ilar goodness  is  also  found  in  persons.     When 
we  call  the  President  of  the  United  States 


12  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

good,  we  mean  that  he  adapts  himself  easily 
and  efficiently  to  the  needs  of  his  people. 
He  detects  those  needs  before  others  fully 
feel  them,  is  sagacious  in  devices  for  meeting 
them,  and  powerful  in  carrying  out  his  patri- 
otic purposes  through  whatever  selfish  oppo- 
sition. The  President's  goodness,  like  the 
knife's,  refers  to  qualities  within  him  only  so 
far  as  these  are  adjusted  to  that  which  lies 
beyond. 

Or  take  something  not  so  palpable.  What 
glorious  weather !  When  we  woke  this  morn- 
ing, drew  aside  our  curtains  and  looked 
out,  we  said  "  It  is  a  good  day ! "  And  of 
what  qualities  of  the  day  were  we  thinking? 
We  meant,  I  suppose,  that  the  day  was  well 
fitted  to  its  various  purposes.  Intending  to 
go  to  our  office,  we  saw  there  was  nothing  to 
hinder  our  doing  so.  We  knew  that  the 
streets  would  be  clear,  people  in  amiable  mood, 
business  and  social  duties  would  move  forward 
easily.  Health  itself  is  promoted  by  such  sun- 
shine. In  fact,  whatever  our  plans,  in  calling 
the  day  a  good  day  we  meant  to  speak  of  it 
as  excellently  adapted  to  something  outside 
itself. 

This  signification  of   goodness   is   lucidly 


THE  DOUBLE  ASPECT  OF  GOODNESS       13 

put  in  the  remark  of  Shakespere's  Portia, 
"  Nothing  I  see  is  good  without  respect." 
We  must  have  some  respect  or  end  in  mind 
in  reference  to  which  the  goodness  is  reck- 
oned. Good  always  means  good  for.  That 
little  preposition  cannot  be  absent  from  our 
minds,  though  it  need  not  audibly  be  uttered. 
The  knife  is  good  for  cutting,  the  day  for 
business,  the  President  for  the  blind  needs 
of  his  country.  Omit  the  for,  and  goodness 
ceases.  To  be  bad  or  good  implies  external 
reference.  To  be  good  means  to  further 
something,  to  be  an  efficient  means;  and  the 
end  to  be  furthered  must  be  already  in  mind 
before  the  word  good  is  spoken. 

The  respects  or  ends  in  reference  to  which 
goodness  is  calculated  are  often,  it  is  true,  ob- 
scure and  difficult  to  seize  if  one  is  unfamiliar 
with  the  currents  of  men's  thoughts.  I  some- 
times hear  the  question  asked  about  a  mer- 
chant, "Is  he  good?"  —  a  question  natural 
enough  in  churches  and  Sunday-schools,  but 
one  which  sounds  rather  queer  on  "  'change." 
But  those  who  ask  it  have  a  special  respect  in 
mind.  I  believe  they  mean,  "  Will  the  man 
meet  his  notes  ?  "  In  their  mode  of  thinking 
a  merchant  is  of  consequence  only  in  financial 


14  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

life.  When  they  have  learned  whether  he  is 
capable  of  performing  his  functions  there, 
they  go  no  farther.  He  may  be  the  most 
vicious  of  men  or  a  veritable  saint.  It  will 
make  no  difference  in  inducing  commercial 
associates  to  call  him  good.  For  them  the 
word  indicates  solely  responsibility  for  busi- 
ness paper. 

A  usage  more  curious  still  occurs  in  the 
nursery.  There  when  the  question  is  asked, 
"  Has  the  baby  been  good  ? "  one  discovers 
by  degrees  that  the  anxious  mother  wishes  to 
know  if  it  has  been  crying  or  quiet.  This 
elementary  life  has  as  yet  not  acquired  posi- 
tive standards  of  measurement.  It  must  be 
reckoned  in  negative  terms,  failure  to  dis- 
turb. Heaven  knows  it  does  not  always  at- 
tain to  this.  But  it  is  its  utmost  virtue, 
quietude. 

In  short,  wherever  we  inspect  the  usage  of 
the  word  good,  we  always  find  behind  it  an 
implication  of  some  end  to  be  reached.  Good 
is  a  relative  term,  signifying  promotive  of, 
conducive  to.  The  good  is  the  useful,  and 
it  must  be  useful  for  something.  Silent  or 
spoken,  it  is  the  mental  reference  to  something 
else  which  puts  all  meaning  into  it.  So  Ham- 


THE  DOUBLE  ASPECT  OF  GOODNESS       15 

let  says,  "  There 's  nothing  either  good  orj 
bad,  but  thinking  makes  it  so."  If  I  have  in 
mind  A  as  an  end  sought,  then  X  is  good. 
But  if  B  is  the  end,  X  is  bad.  X  has  no 
goodness  or  badness  of  its  own.  No  new 
quality  is  added  to  an  object  or  act  when  it 
becomes  good. 

IV 

But  this  result  is  disappointing,  not  to  say 
paradoxical.  To  call  a  thing  good  only  with 
reference  to  what  lies  outside  itself  would  be 
almost  equivalent  to  saying  that  nothing  is 
good.  For  if  the  moment  anything  becomes 
good  it  refers  all  its  goodness  to  something 
beyond  its  own  walls,  should  we  ever  be  able 
to  discover  an  object  endowed  with  goodness 
at  all  ?  The  knife  is  good  in  reference  to 
the  stick  of  wood ;  the  wood,  in  reference  to 
the  table  ;  the  table,  in  reference  to  the  writ- 
ing; the  writing,  in  reference  to  a  reader's 
eyes ;  his  eyes,  in  reference  to  supporting  his 
family  —  where  shall  we  ever  stop  ?  We  can 
never  catch  up  with  goodness.  It  is  always 
promising  to  disclose  itself  a  little  way  be- 
yond, and  then  evading  us,  slipping  from 
under  our  fingers  just  when  we  are  about  to 


16  THE  NATUEE  OF  GOODNESS 

touch  it.     This  meaning  of  goodness  is  self- 
contradictory. 

And  it  is  also  too  large.  It  includes  more 
in  goodness  than  properly  belongs  there.  If 
we  call  everything  good  which  is  good  for, 
everything  which  shows  adaptation  to  an  end, 
then  we  shall  be  obliged  to  count  a  multitude 
of  matters  good  which  we  are  accustomed  to 
think  of  as  evil.  Filth  will  be  good,  for  it  pro- 
motes fevers  as  nothing  else  does.  Earth- 
quakes are  good,  for  shaking  down  houses. 
It  is  inapposite  to  urge  that  we  do  not  want 
fevers  or  shaken  houses.  Wishes  are  provided 
no  place  in  our  meaning  of  good.  Goodness 
merely  assists,  promotes,  is  conducive  to  any 
result  whatever.  It  marks  the  functional  char- 
acter, without  regard  to  the  desirability  of 
that  which  the  function  effects.  But  this  is 
unsatisfactory  and  may  well  set  us  on  a  search 
for  supplementary  meanings. 

V 

When  we  ask  if  the  Venus  of  Milo  is  a 
good  statue,  we  have  to  confess  that  it  is  good 
beyond  almost  any  object  on  which  our  eyes 
have  ever  rested.  And  yet  it  is  not  good  for 
anything ;  it  is  no  means  for  an  outside  end. 


THE  DOUBLE  ASPECT  OF  GOODNESS      17 

Rather,  it  is  good  in  itself.  This  possibility 
that  things  may  be  good  in  themselves  was 
once  brought  forcibly  to  my  attention  by  a 
trivial  incident.  Wandering  over  my  fields 
with  my  farmer  in  autumn,  we  were  surveying 
the  wrecks  of  summer.  There  on  the  ploughed 
ground  lay  a  great  golden  object.  He  pointed 
to  it,  saying,  "  That  is  a  good  big  pumpkin." 
I  said,  "  Yes,  but  I  don't  care  about  pump- 
kins." "No,"  he  said,  "nor  do  I."  I  said, 
"  You  care  for  them,  though,  as  they  grow 
large.  You  called  this  a  good  big  one." 
"  No !  On  the  contrary,  a  pumpkin  that  is 
large  is  worth  less.  Growing  makes  it  coarser. 
But  that  is  a  good  big  pumpkin."  I  saw  there 
was  some  meaning  in  his  mind,  but  I  could 
not  make  out  what  it  was.  Soon  after  I  heard 
a  schoolboy  telling  about  having  had  a  "  good 
big  thrashing."  I  knew  that  he  did  not  like 
such  things.  His  phrase  could  not  indicate 
approval,  and  what  did  it  signify  ?  He  coupled 
the  two  words  good  and  big  ;  and  I  asked  my- 
self if  there  was  between  them  any  natural  con- 
nection? On  reflection  I  thought  there  was.  If 
you  wish  to  find  the  full  pumpkin  nature,  here 
you  have  it.  All  that  a  pumpkin  can  be  is  set 
forth  here  as  nowhere  else.  And  for  that  mat- 


18  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

ter,  anybody  who  might  foolishly  wish  to  ex« 
plore  a  thrashing  would  find  all  he  sought  in 
this  one.  In  short,  what  seemed  to  he  intended 
was  that  all  the  functions  constituting  the 
things  talked  about  were  present  in  these  in- 
stances and  hard  at  work,  mutually  assisting 
one  another,  and  joining  to  make  up  such 
a  rounded  whole  that  from  it  nothing  was 
omitted  which  possibly  might  render  its  or- 
ganic wholeness  complete. 

Here  then  is  a  notion  of  goodness  widely  un- 
like the  one  previously  developed.  Goodness 
now  appears  shut  up  within  verifiable  bounds 
where  it  is  not  continuaUy  referred  to  some- 
thing which  lies  beyond.  An  object  is  here 
reckoned  not  as  good  for,  but  as  good  in  it- 
self. The  Venus  of  Milo  is  a  good  statue  not 
through  what  it  does,  but  through  what  it 
is.  And  perhaps  it  may  conduce  to  clearness 
if  we  now  give  technical  names  to  our  two 
contrasted  conceptions  and  call  the  former 
extrinsic  goodness  and  the  latter  intrinsic. 
Extrinsic  goodness  will  then  signify  the  ad-\ 
justment  of  an  object  to  something  which  lies 
outside  itself ;  intrinsic  will  say  that  the  many 
powers  of  an  object  are  so  adjusted  to  one 
another  that  they  cooperate  to  render  the  ob- 


THE  DOUBLE  ASPECT  OF  GOODNESS       19 

ject  a  firm  totality.  Both  will  indicate  rela- 
tionship; but  in  the  one  case  the  relations 
considered  are  extra  se,  in  the  other  inter  se. 
Goodness,  however,  will  everywhere  point  to 
organic  adjustment. 

If  this  double  aspect  of  goodness  is  as  clear 
and  important  as  I  believe  it  to  be,  it  must 
have  left  its  record  in  language.  And  in  fact 
we  find  that  popular  speech  distinguishes 
worth  and  value  in  much  the  same  way  as 
I  have  distinguished  intrinsic  and  extrinsic 
goodness.  To  say  that  an  object  hasy#alu£  is 
to  declare  it  of  consequence  in  **pfpirftnp,p  tn 
something  other  than  itself.  To  speak  of  its 
wjjrjth  is  to  call  attention  to  what  its  own 
nature  involves.  In  a  somewhat  similar  fash- 
ion Mr.  Bradley  distinguishes  the  extension 
and  harmony  of  goodness,  and  Mr.  Alexander 
the  right  and  the  perfect. 

VI 

When,  however,  we  have  got  the  two  sorts 
of  goodness  distinctly  parted,  our  next  busi- 
ness is  to  get  them  together  again.  Are  they 
in  fact  altogether  separate  ?  Is  the  extrinsic 
goodness  of  an  object  entirely  detachable  from 
its  intrinsic  ?  I  think  not.  They  are  invari- 


20  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

ably  found  together.  Indeed,  extrinsic  good- 
ness would  be  impossible  in  an  object  which 
did  not  possess  a  fair  degree  of  intrinsic. 
How  could  a  table,  for  example,  be  useful  for 
holding  a  glass  of  water  if  the  table  were  not 
well  made,  if  powers  appropriate  to  tables 
were  not  present  and  mutually  cooperating  ? 
Unless  equipped  with  intrinsic  goodness,  the 
table  can  exhibit  no  extrinsic  goodness  what- 
ever. And,  on  the  other  hand,  intrinsic  good- 
ness, coherence  of  inner  constitution,  is  always 
found  attended  by  some  degree  of  extrin- 
sic goodness,  or  influence  over  other  things. 
Nothing  exists  entirely  by  itself.  Each  ob- 
ject has  its  relationships,  and  through  these 
is  knitted  into  the  frame  of  the  universe. 

Still,  though  the  two  forms  of  goodness  are 
thus  regularly  united,  we  may  fix  our  atten- 
tion on  the  one  or  the  other.  According  as 
we  do  so,  we  speak  of  an  object  as  intrinsi- 
cally or  extrinsically  good.  For  that  matter, 
one  of  the  two  may  sometimes  seem  to  be 
present  in  a  preponderating  degree,  and  to 
determine  by  its  presence  the  character  of  the 
object.  In  judging  ordinary  physical  things, 
I  believe  we  usually  test  them  by  their  ser- 
viceability to  us  —  by  their  extrinsic  goodness, 


THE  DOUBLE  ASPECT  OF  GOODNESS       21 

that  is  —  rather  than  bother  our  heads  with 
asking  what  is  their  inner  structure,  and  how 
full  of  organization  they  may  be.  Whereas, 
when  we  come  to  estimate  human  beings,  we 
ordinarily  regard  it  as  a  kind  of  indignity  to 
assess  primarily  their  extrinsic  goodness,  i.  e., 
to  ask  chiefly  how  serviceable  they  may  be 
and  to  ignore  their  inner  worth.  To  sum  up 
a  man  in  terms  of  his  labor  value  is  the  moral 
error  of  the  slaveholder. 

If,  however,  we  seek  the  highest  point  to 
which  either  kind  of  excellence  may  be  car- 
ried, it  will  be  found  where  each  most  fully 
assists  the  other.  But  this  is  not  easy  to  im- 
agine. When  I  set  a  glass  of  water  on  the  table, 
the  table  is  undoubtedly  slightly  shaken  by 
the  strain.  If  I  put  a  large  book  upon  it,  the 
strain  of  the  table  becomes  apparent.  Putting 
a  hundred  pound  weight  upon  it  is  an  experi- 
ment that  is  perilous.  For  the  extrinsic  good- 
ness of  the  table  is  at  war  with  the  intrinsic ; 
that  is,  the  employment  of  the  table  wears  it 
out.  In  doing  its  work  and  fitting  into  the 
large  relationships  for  which  tables  exist,  its 
inner  organization  becomes  disjointed.  In 
time  it  will  go  to  pieces.  We  can,  however, 
imagine  a  magic  table,  which  might  be  con- 


22  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

solidated  by  all  it  does.  At  first  it  was  a  little 
weak,  but  by  upholding  the  glass  of  water 
it  grew  stronger.  As  I  laid  the  book  on 
it,  its  joints  acquired  a  tenacity  which  they 
lacked  before ;  and  only  after  receiving  the 
hundred  pound  weight  did  it  acquire  the  full 
strength  of  which  it  was  capable.  That  would 
indeed  be  a  marvelous  table,  where  use  and  in- 
ner construction  continually  helped  each  other. 
Something  like  it  we  may  hereafter  find  pos- 
sible in  certain  regions  of  personal  goodness, 
but  no  such  perpetual  motion  is  possible  to 
things.  For  them  employment  is  costly. 

VII 

I  have  already  strained  my  readers'  atten- 
tion sufficiently  by  these  abstract  statements 
of  matters  technical  and  minute.  Let  us 
stop  thinking  for  a  while  and  observe.  I  will 
draw  a  picture  of  goodness  and  teach  the  eye 
what  sort  of  thing  it  is.  We  have  only  to  fol- 
low in  our  drawing  the  conditions  already  laid 
down.  We  agreed  that  when  an  object  was 
good  it  was  good  for  something ;  so  that  if 
A  is  good,  it  must  be  good  for  B.  This  in- 
strumental relation,  of  means  to  end,  may  well 
be  indicated  by  an  arrow  pointing  out  the  direc- 


THE  DOUBLE  ASPECT  OF  GOODNESS       23 

tion  in  which  the  influence  moves.  But  if  B 
is  also  to  be  good,  it  too  must  be  connected 
by  an  arrow  with  another  object,  C,  and  this 
in  the  same  way  with  D.  The  process  might 
evidently  be  continued  forever,  but  will  be 

sufficiently   shown    in    the     A  a 

three  stages  of  Figure  1. 
Here  the  arrow  always  ex- 
presses the  extrinsic  good- 
ness of  the  letter  which  lies 

behind  it,  in  reference  to  

the  letter  which  lies  before.  „ 

Fig-  *• 

But  drawing  our  diagram 
in  this  fashion  and  finding  a  little  gap  be- 
tween D  and  A,  the  completing  mind  of  man 
longs  to  fill  up  that  gap.  We  have  no  war- 
rant for  doing  anything  of  the  sort ;  but  let 
us  try  the  experiment  and  see  what  effect  will 

follow.     Under  the  new  ar-    A „ 

rangement  we  find  that  not 
only  is  D  good  for  A,  but 
that  A,  being  good  for  B 
and  for  C,  is  also  good  for 
D.  To  express  these  facts 
in  full  it  would  be  neces-  ^  "  w 

rig.  2. 

sary   to    put    a    point    on 

each  end  of  the  arrow  connecting  A  and  D. 


24  THE  NATUEE  OF  GOODNESS 

But  the  same  would  be  true  of  the  relation 
between  A  and  B  ;  that  is,  B,  being  good  for 
C  and  for  D,  is  also  good  for  A.  Or,  as 
similar  reasoning  would  hold  throughout  the 
figure,  all  the  arrows  appearing  there  should 
be  supplied  with  heads  at  both  ends.  And 
there  is  one  further  correction.  A  is  good 
for  B  and  for  C ;  that  is,  A  is  good  for  C. 
The  same  relation  should  also  be  indicated  be- 
tween B  and  D.  So  that  to  render  our  diagram 
complete  it  would  be  necessary  to  supply  it  with 
two  diagonal  arrows  having  double  heads.  It 
would  then  assume  the  following  form. 

Here  is  a  picture  of  in- 
trinsic goodness.  In  this 
figure  we  have  a  whole  re- 
presented in  which  every 
part  is  good  for  every  other 
part.  But  this  is  merely 
„.  3  a  pictorial  statement  of 

the  definition  which  Kant 
once  gave  of  an  organism.  By  an  organism, 
he  says,  we  mean  that  assemblage  of  active 
and  differing  parts  in  which  each  part  is  both 
means  and  end.  Extrinsic  goodness,  the  re- 
lation of  means  to  end,  we  have  expressed  in 
our  diagram  by  the  pointed  arrow.  But  as 


25 

soon  as  we  filled  in  the  gap  between  D  and 
A  each  arrow  was  obliged  to  point  in  two 
directions.  We  had  an  organic  whole  instead 
of  'a  lot  of  external  adjustments.  In  such  a 
whole  each  part  has  its  own  function  to  per- 
form, is  active ;  and  all  must  differ  from  one 
another,  or  there  would  be  mere  repetition 
and  aggregation  instead  of  organic  supple- 
mentation of  end  by  means.  An  organism 
has  been  more  briefly  defined,  and  the  curious 
mutuality  of  its  support  expressed,  by  saying 
that  it  is  a  unit  made  up  of  cooperant  parts. 
And  each  of  these  definitions  expresses  the 
notion  of  intrinsic  goodness  which  we  have 
already  reached.  Intrinsic  goodness  is  the 
expression  of  the  fullness  of  function  in  the 
construction  of  an  organism. 

I  have  elsewhere  (The  Field  of  Ethics,  p. 
122)  explained  the  epoch-making  character  in 
any  life  of  this  conception  of  an  organism. 
Until  one  has  come  in  sight  of  it,  he  is  a  child. 
When  once  he  begins  to  view  things  organic  ».* 
cally,  he  is  —  at  least  in  outline  —  a  scientific!  v 
an  artistic,  a  moral  man.     Experience   there 
becomes  coherent  and  rational,  and  the  dis- 
jointed modes  of   immaturity,    ugliness,  and 
sin  no  longer  attract.     At  no  period  of  the 


26  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

world's  history  has  this  truly  formative  con- 
ception exercised  a  wider  influence  than  to- 
day. It  is  accordingly  worth  while  to  depict 
it  with  distinctness,  and  to  show  how  fully  it 
is  wrought  into  the  very  nature  of  goodness. 


REFERENCES    ON   THE   DOUBLE    ASPECT   OF 
GOODNESS 

Alexander's  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  bk.  ii.  ch.  ii. 
Bradley's  Appearance  and  Reality,  ch.  xxv. 
Sidgwick's  Methods,  bk.  i.  ch.  ix. 
Spencer's  Principles  of  Ethics,  pt.  i.  ch.  iii. 
Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  bk.  iv.  ch.  ii. 
Ladd's  Philosophy  of  Conduct,  ch.  iii. 
Kant's  Practical  Reason,  bk.  i.  ch.  ii. 
The  Meaning  of  Good,  by  G.  L.  Dickinson. 


n 

MISCONCEPTIONS  OF  GOODNESS 


n 

MISCONCEPTIONS    OF   GOODNESS 


OUR  diagram  of  goodness,  as  drawn  in  the 
last  chapter,  has  its  special  imperfections,  and 
through  these  cannot  fail  to  suggest  certain 
erroneous  notions  of  goodness.  To  these  I 
now  turn.  The  first  of  them  is  connected 
with  its  own  mode  of  construction.  It  will 
he  rememhered  that  we  arbitrarily  threw  a*, 
arrow  from  D  to  A,  thus  making  what  was, 
hitherto  an  end  become  a  means  to  its  own 
means.  Was  this  legitimate  ?  Does  any  such 
closed  circle  exist  ? 

It  certainly  does  not.  Our  universe  con- 
tains nothing  that  can  be  represented  by  that 
figure.  Indeed  if  anywhere  such  a  self-suffi- 
cing organism  did  exist,  we  could  never  know 
it.  For,  by  the  hypothesis,  it  would  be  alto- 
gether adequate  to  itself  and  without  rela- 
tions beyond  its  own  bounds.  And  if  it  were 


32  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

thus  cut  off  from  connection  with  everything 
except  itself,  it  could  not  even  affect  our 
knowledge.  It  would  he  a  closed  universe 
within  our  universe,  and  be  for  us  as  good  as 
zero.  We  must  own,  then,  that  we  have  no 
acquaintance  with  any  such  perfect  organism, 
while  the  facts  of  life  reveal  conditions  widely 
unlike  those  here  represented. 

What  these  conditions  are  becomes  appa- 
rent when  we  put  significance  into  the  letters 
hitherto  employed.  Let  our  diagram  become 
a  picture  of  the  organic  life  of  John.  Then 
A  might  represent  his  physical  life,  B  his 
business  life,  C  his  civil,  D  his  domestic ;  and 
we  should  have  asserted  that  each  of  these 
several  functions  in  the  life  of  John  assists 
all  the  rest.  His  physical  health  favors  his 
commercial  and  political  success,  while  at  the 
same  time  making  him  more  valuable  in  the 
domestic  circle.  But  home  life,  civic  eminence, 
and  business  prosperity  also  tend  to  confirm 
'his  health.  In  short,  every  one  of  these  fac- 
tors in  the  life  of  John  mutually  affects  and 
is  affected  by  all  the  others. 

But  when  thus  supplied  with  meaning,  Fig- 
ure 3  evidently  fails  to  express  all  it  should 
say.  B  is  intended  to  exhibit  the  business 


MISCONCEPTIONS  OF  GOODNESS 


33 


life  of  John.  But  this  is  surely  not  lived 
alone.  Though  called  a  function  of  John,  it 
is  rather  a  function  of  the  community,  and  he 
merely  shares  it.  I  had  no  right  to  confine 
to  John  himself  that  which  plainly  stretches 
beyond  him.  Let  us  correct  the  figure,  then, 
by  laying  off  another  beside  it  to  repre- 
sent Peter,  one  of  those  who  shares  in  the 
business  experience  of  John.  This  common 
business  life 
of  theirs,  B,  A* 
we  may  say, 
enables  Pe- 
ter to  grat- 
ify his  own 
adventurous 
disposition, 
E;  and  this 
tastes,  F.  But 


Fig.  4. 

again  stimulates  his   scientific 


Peter's  eminence  in  science 
commends  him  so  to  his  townsmen  that  he 
comes  to  share  again  C,  the  civic  life  of  John. 
Yet  as  before  in  the  case  of  John,  each  of 
Peter's  powers  works  forward,  backward,  and 
across,  constructing  in  Peter  an  organic 
whole  which  still  is  interlocked  with  the  life 
of  John.  Each,  while  having  functions  of 
his  own,  has  also  functions  which  are  shared 
with  his  neighbor. 


34 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 


Nor  would  this  involvement  of  functions 
pause  with  Peter.  To  make  our  diagram 
really  representative,  each  of  the  two  individ- 
uals thus  far  drawn  would  need  to  be  sur- 
rounded by  a  multitude  of  others,  all  sharing  in 
some  degree  the  functions  of  their  neighbors. 
Or  rather  each  individual,  once  connected 
with  his  neighbors,  would  find  all  his  functions 
affected  by  all  those  possessed  by  his  entire 

group.  For 
fear  of  mak- 
ing my  figure 
unintelligible 
through  its 
fullness  of  re- 
lations, I  have 

sent  out  arrows  in  all  direc- 
tions from  the  letter  A  only; 
but  in  reality  they  would 
run  from  all  to  all.  And  I 
have  also  thought  that  we 
persons  affect  one  another 
quite  as  decidedly  through  the  wholeness  of 
our  characters  as  we  do  through  any  interlock- 
ing of  single  traits.  Such  totality  of  relation- 
ship I  have  tried  to  suggest  by  connecting  the 
centres  of  each  little  square  with  the  centres 


H 


Fig.  5. 


MISCONCEPTIONS  OF  GOODNESS  35 

of  adjacent  ones.     John  as  a  whole  is  thus 
shown  to  be  good  for  Peter  as  a  whole. 

We  have  successively  found  ourselves  obliged 
to  broaden  our  conception  until  the  goodness 
of  a  single  object  has  come  to  imply  that  of  a 
group.  The  two  phases  of  goodness  are  thus 
seen  to  be  mutually  dependent.  Extrinsic 
goodness  or  serviceability,  that  where  an  ob- 
ject employs  an  already  constituted  wholeness 
to  further  the  wholeness  of  another,  cannot 
proceed  except  through  intrinsic  goodness,  or 
that  where  fullness  and  adjustment  of  func- 
tions are  expressed  in  the  construction  of  an 
organism.  Nor  can  intrinsic  goodness  be 
supposed  to  exist  shut  up  to  itself  and  parted 
from  extrinsic  influence.  The  two  are  merely 
different  modes  or  points  of  view  for  assessing 
goodness  everywhere.  Goodness  in  its  mosti 
elementary  form  appears  where  one  object  is] 
connected  with  another  as  means  to  end.  But, 
the  more  elaborately  complicated  the  relation  1 
becomes,  and  the  richer  the  entanglement  of 
means  and  ends  —  internal  and  external  —  in 
the  adjustment  of  object  or  person,  so  much 
ampler  is  the  goodness.  Each  object,  in  order 
to  possess  any  good,  must  share  in  that  of  the 
universe. 


36  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

II 

But  the  diagram  suggests  a  second  ques- 
tion. Are  all  the  functions  here  represented 
equally  influential  in  forming  the  organism  ? 
Our  figure  implies  that  they  are,  and  I  see 
no  way  of  drawing  it  so  as  to  avoid  the  im- 
plication. But  it  is  an  error.  In  nature  our 
powers  have  different  degrees  of  influence. 
We  cannot  suppose  that  John's  physical,  com- 
mercial, domestic,  and  political  life  will  have 
precisely  equal  weight  in  the  formation  of  his 
being.  One  or  the  other  of  them  will  play 
a  larger  part.  Accordingly  we  very  properly 
speak  of  greater  goods  and  lesser  goods, 
meaning  by  the  former  those  which  are  more 
largely  contributory  to  the  organism.  In  our 
physical  being,  for  example,  we  may  inquire 
whether  sight  or  digestion  is  the  greater  good ; 
and  our  only  means  of  arriving  at  an  answer 
would  be  to  stop  each  function  and  then  note 
the  comparative  consequence  to  the  organism. 
Without  digestion,  life  ceases ;  without  sight, 
it  is  rendered  uncomfortable.  If  we  are  con- 
sidering merely  the  relative  amounts  of  bod- 
ily gain  from  the  two  functions,  we  must  call 
digestion  the  greater  good.  In  a  table,  excel- 


MISCONCEPTIONS  OF  GOODNESS  37 

lence  of  make  is  apt  to  be  a  greater  good  than 
excellence  of  material,  the  character  of  the 
carpentry  having  more  effect  on  its  durability 
than  does  the  special  kind  of  wood  employed. 
The  very  doubts  about  such  results  which 
arise  in  certain  cases  confirm  the  truth  of  the 
definition  here  proposed  ;  for  when  we  hesi- 
tate, it  is  on  account  of  the  difficulty  we  find 
in  determining  how  far  maintenance  of  the 
organism  depends  on  the  one  or  the  other  of 
the  qualities  compared.  The  meaning  of  the 
terms  greater  and  lesser  is  clearer  than  their 
application.  A  function  or  quality  is  counted 
a  greater  good  in  proportion  as  it  is  believed 
to  be  more  completely  of  the  nature  of  a 
means. 

Ill 

Another  question  unsettled  by  the  diagram 
is  so  closely  connected  with  the  one  just  ex- 
amined as  often  to  be  confused  with  it.  It 
is  this  :  yft  fl- 


rank,  or  grade?  TMj  arfi  nflt  ?  and  this 
qualitative  difference  is  indicated  by  the  terms 
higher  and  lower,  as  the  quantitative  differ- 
ence was  by  greater  and  less.  But  differ- 
ences of  rank  are  more  slippery  matters  than 


38  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

difference  of  amount,  and  easily  lend  them- 
selves to  arbitrary  and  capricious  treatment. 
Tn  ordinary  speech  we  are  apt  to  employ  the 
words  high  and  low  as  mere  signs  of  approval 
or  disapproval.  We  talk  of  one  occupation, 
enjoyment,  work  of  art,  as  superior  to  another, 
and  mean  hardly  more  than  that  we  like  it 
better.  Probably  there  is  not  another  pair  of 
terms  current  in  ethics  where  the  laudatory 
usage  is  so  liable  to  slip  into  the  place  of  the 
descriptive.  Our  opponent's  ethics  alwaysi 
seem  to  embody  low  ideals,  our  own  to  bej 
of  a  higher  type.  Accordingly  the  terms 
should  not  be  used  in  controversy  unless  we 
have  in  mind  for  them  a  precise  meaning 
other  than  eulogy  or  disparagement. 

And  such  a  meaning  they  certainly  may  pos- 
sess. As  the  terjfr  greater  good  is  employed  to 
indicate  the  degree  in  which  a  Quality  .servfis 

I  ••  ••  '  '  <l  I  _  __  V 

as_a  means,  so  may  the  higher  good  nhow 
the  degree  in  which  it  is  &U-  end.  Digestion, 
which  was  just  now  counted  a  greater  good 
than  sight,  might  still  be  rightly  reckoned 
a  lower  ;  for  while  it  contributes  more  largely 
to  the  constitution  of  the  human  organism,  it 
on  that  very  account  expresses  less  the  pur- 
poses to  which  that  organism  will  be  put.  It 


MISCONCEPTIONS  OF  GOODNESS  39 

is  true  we  have  seen  how  in  any  organism 
every  power  is  both  means  and  end.  It  would 
be  impossible,  then,  to  part  out  its  powers, 
and  call  some  altogether  great  and  others 
altogether  high.  But  though  there  is  pur- 
pose in  all,  and  construction  in  all,  certain  are 
more  markedly  the  one  than  the  other.  Some 
express  the  superintending  functions ;  others, 
the  subservient.  Some  condition,  others  are 
conditioned  by.  In  man,  for  example,  the 
intellectual  powers  certainly  serve  our  bodily 
needs.  But  that  is  not  their  principal  office ; 
rather,  in  them  the  aims  of  the  entire  human 
being  receive  expression.  To  abolish  the  dis- 
tinction of  high  and  low  would  be  to  try  to 
obliterate  from  our  understanding  of  the  world 
all  estimates  of  the  comparative  worth  of  its 
parts ;  and  with  these  estimates  its  rational 
order  would  also  disappear.  Such  attempts 
have  often  been  made.  In  extreme  polytheism 
there  are  no  superiors  among  the  gods  and  no 
inferiors,  and  chaos  consequently  reigns.  A 
similar  chaos  is  projected  into  life  when,  as  in 
the  poetry  of  Walt  Whitman,  all  grades  of 
importance  are  stripped  from  the  powers  of 
man  and  each  is  ranked  as  of  equal  dignity 
with  every  other. 


40  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

That  there  is  difficulty  in  applying  the  dis- 
tinction, and  determining  which  function  is 
high  and  which  low,  is  evident.  To  fix  the 
purposes  of  an  object  would  often  be  presump- 
tuous. With  such  perplexities  I  am  not  con- 
cerned. I  merely  wish  to  point  out  a  perfectly 
legitimate  and  even  important  signification  of 
the__tgnna_Jbigh  and  k>w,  quite  apart  from 
their  popular  employment  as  laudatory  or  de- 
preciative  epithets.  It  surely  is  not  amiss  to 
call  the  legibility  of  a  book  a  higher  good 
than  its  shape,  size,  or  weight,  though  in  each 
of  these  some  quality  of  the  book  is  expressed. 

IV 

A  further  point  of  possible  misconception 
in  our  diagram  is  the  number  of  factors  re- 
presented. As  here  shown,  these  are  but  four. 
They  might  better  be  forty.  The  more  richly 
functional  a  thing  or  person  is,  the  greater 
its  goodness.  Poverty  of  powers  is  every- 
where a  form  of  evil.  For  how  can  there  be 
largeness  of  organization  where  there  is  little  to 
organize  ?  Or  what  is  the  use  of  organization 
except  as  a  mode  of  furnishing  the  smoothest 
and  most  compact  expression  to  powers? 
Wealth  and  order  are  accordingly  everywhere 


MISCONCEPTIONS  OF  GOODNESS  41 

the  double  traits  of  goodness,  and  a  chief 
test  of  the  worth  of  any  organism  will  be  the 
diversity  of  the  powers  it  includes.  Through- 
out my  discussion  I  have  tried  to  help  the 
reader  to  keep  this  twofold  goodness  in 
mind  by  the  use  of  such  phrases  as  "  fullness 
of  organization." 

Yet  it  must  be  confessed  that  between  the 
two  elements  of  goodness  there  is  a  kind  of 
opposition,  needful  though  both  are  for  each 
other.  Order  has  in  it  much  that  is  repressive ; 
and  wealth  —  in  the  sense  of  fecundity  of 
powers  — is,  especially  at  its  beginning,  apt  to 
be  disorderly.  When  a  new  power  springs* 
into  being,  it  is  usually  chaotic  or  rebellious  J 
It  has  something  else  to  attend  to  besides  bring- 
ing itself  into  accord  with  what  already  exists. 
There  is  violence  in  it,  a  lack  of  sobriety,  and 
only  by  degrees  does  it  find  its  place  in  the 
scheme  of  things.  This  is  most  observable  in 
living  beings,  because  it  is  chiefly  they  who 
acquire  new  powers.  But  there  are  traces  of 
it  even  among  things.  A  chemical  acid  and 
base  meeting,  are  pretty  careless  of  everything 
except  the  attainment  of  their  own  action. 
Human  beings  are  born,  and  for  some  time 
remain,  clamorous,  obliging  the  world  around 


42  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

to  attend  more  to  them  than  they  to  it.  There 
is  ever  a  confusion  in  exuberant  life  which 
bewilders  the  onlooker,  even  while  he  admits 
that  life  had  better  be. 

The  deep  opposition  between  these  con« 
trasted  sides  of  goodness  is  mirrored  in  the 
conflicting  moral  ideals  of  conservatism  and 
radicalism,  of  socialism  and  individualism, 
whicn  have  never  been  absent  from  the  soci- 
eties of  men,  nor  even,  I  believe,  from  those  of 
animals.  Conservatism  insists  on  unity  and 
order;  radicalism  on  wealthy  life,  diversified 
powers,  particular  independence.  Either,  left 
to  itself,  would  crush  society,  one  by  empty- 
ing it  of  initiative,  the  other  by  splitting  it 
into  a  company  of  warring  atoms.  Ordinarily 
each  is  dimly  aware  of  its  need  of  an  oppo- 
nent, yet  does  not  on  that  account  denounce 
him  the  less,  or  less  eagerly  struggle  to  expel 
him  from  provinces  asserted  to  be  its  own. 

By  temperament  certain  classes  of  the  com- 
munity are  naturally  disposed  to  become  cham- 
pions of  the  one  or  the  other  of  these  sup- 
plemental ideals.  Artists,  for  the  most  part, 
incline  to  the  ideal  of  abounding  life,  exult  in 
each  novel  manifestation  which  it  can  be  made 
to  assume,  and  scoff  at  order  as  Philistinism. 


MISCONCEPTIONS  OF  GOODNESS  43 

Moralists,  on  the  other  hand,  lay  grievous 
stress  on  order,  as  if  it  had  any  value  apart 
from  its  promotion  of  life.  Assuming  that 
sufficient  exuberance  will  come,  unfosteredby 
morality,  they  shut  it  out  from  their  charge, 
make  duty  to  consist  in  checking  instinct,  and 
devote  themselves  to  pruning  the  sprouting 
man.  But  this  is  absurdly  to  narrow  ethics, 
whose  true  aim  is  to  trace  the  laws  involved 
in  the  construction  of  a  good  person.  In  such 
construction  the  supply  of  moral  material,  and 
the  fostering  of  a  wide  diversity  of  vigorous 
powers,  is  as  necessary  as  bringing  these  powers 
into  proper  working  form.  Richness  of  char* 
acter  is  as  important  as  correctness.  The 
world's  benefactors  have  often  been  one-side^ 
and  faulty  men.  None  of  us  can  be  complete  j 
and  we  had  better  not  be  much  disturbed  ovei 
the  fact,  but  rather  set  ourselves  to  gro^w 
strong  enough  to  carry  off  our  defects. 

Because  ethics  has  not  always  kept  its  eyes 
open  to  this  obvious  duality  of  goodness  it  ha? 
often  incurred  the  contempt  of  practical  men. 
The  ethical  writers  of  our  time  have  done  bet- 
ter. They  have  come  to  see  that  the  goodness 
of  a  person  or  thing  consists  in  its  being  ai 
richly  diversified  as  is  possible  up  to  the  limit 


ucu\J7cu> 


WV«Y\  ^M.  vft,  v 


44  5THB  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

of  harmonious  working,  and  also  in  being  or- 
derly up  to  the  Limit  of  repression  of  powers. 
Beyond  either  of  these  limits  evil  begins. 
What  I  have  expressed  in  my  diagram  as  the 
fullest  organization  is  intended  to  lie  within 

them. 

V 

It  remains  to  compare  the  view  of  good- 
ness here  presented  with  two  others  which  have 
met  with  wide  approval.  The  competence  of 
my  own  will  be  tested  by  seeing  whether  it 
can  explain  these,  or  they  it.  Goodness  is 
sometimes  defined  as  that  which  satisfies  de- 
sire. Things  are  not  good  in  themselves,  but 
only  as  they  respond  to  human  wishes.  A 
certain  combination  of  colors  or  sounds  is  good, 
because  I  like  it.  A  republic  we  Americans 
consider  the  best  form  of  government  because 
we  believe  that  this  more  completely  than  any 
other  meets  the  legitimate  desires  of  its  peo- 
ple. I  know  a  little  boy  who  after  tasting 
with  gusto  his  morning's  oatmeal  would  turn 
for  sympathy  to  each  other  person  at  table 
with  the  assertive  inquiry,  "  Good  ?  Good  ? 
Good  ?  "  He  knew  no  good  but  enjoyment, 
and  this  was  so  keen  that  he  expected  to  find  it 
repeated  in  each  of  his  friends.  It  is  true  we 


CuWLc&u)  UHA&,  ^^r*  ?fe- 
$o/uu  a-  cAn<u<yy    v\ft*S  i 

^ 

MISCONCEPTIONS  OF  GOODNESS  45 

often  call  actions  good  which  are  not  immedi- 
ately pleasing ;  for  example,  the  cutting  off 
of  a  leg  which  is  crushed  past  the  possibility 
of  cure.  But  the  leg,  if  left,  will  cause  still 
more  distress  or  even  death.  In  the  last  an-|  V 

I         ' '  .r  o  n 

alysis  the  word  good  will  be  found  everywhere! 
to  refer  to  some  satisfaction  of  human  desire.'' 
If  we  count  afflictions  good,  it  is  because  we 
believe  that  through  them  permanent  peace 
may  best  be  reached.  And  rightly  do  those 
name  the  Bible  the  Good  Book  who  think  that 
it  more  than  any  other  has  helped  to  alleviate 
the  woes  of  man. 

With  this  definition  I  shall  not  quarrel. 
So  far  as  it  goes,  it  seems  to  me  not  incorrect. 
In  all  good  I  too  find  satisfaction  of  desire. 
Only,  though  true,  the  definition  is  in  my 
judgment  vague  and  inadequate.  For  we  shall 
still  need  some  standard  to  test  the  goodness  of 
desires.  They  themselves  may  be  good,  and 
some  of  them  are  better  than  others.  It  is 
good  to  eat  candy,  to  love  a  friend,  to  hate  a 
foe,  to  hear  the  sound  of  running  water,  to 
practice  medicine,  to  gather  wealth,  learning, 
or  postage  stamps.  But  though  each  of  these 
represents  a  natural  desire,  they  cannot  all  be 
counted  equally  good.  They  must  be  tried  by 


46  THE  NATUEE  OF  GOODNESS 

some  standard  other  than  themselves.  For  de- 
sires are  not  detachable  facts.  Each  is  signifi- 
cant only  as  a  piece  of  a  life.  In  connection 
with  that  life  it  must  be  judged.  And  when 
we  ask  if  any  desire  is  good  or  bad,  we  really 
inquire  how  far  it  may  play  a  part  in  company 
with  other  desires  in  making  up  a  harmonious 
existence.  By  its  organic  quality,  accordingly, 
we  must  ultimately  determine  the  goodness  of 
whatever  we  desire.  If  it  is  organic,  it  cer- 
tainly will  satisfy  desire.  But  we  cannot  re- 
verse this  statement  and  assert  that  whatever 
satisfies  desire  will  be  organically  good.  My 
own  mode  of  statement  is,  therefore,  clearer 
and  more  adequate  than  the  one  here  exam- 
ined, because  it  brings  out  fully  important 
considerations  which  in  this  are  only  implied. 
//Whatever  contributes  to  the  solidity  and  wealth 
of  an  organism  is,  from  the  point  of  view  of 
\that  organism,  good. 

VI 

A  second  inadequate  definition  of  goodnessi 
is  that  it  is  adaptation  to  environment.    This  I1- 
is  a  far  more  important  conception  than  the 
preceding ;  but  again,  while   not   untrue,  is 
still,  in  my  judgment,  partial  and  ambiguous. 


When  its  meaning  is  made  clear  and  exact,  it 
seems  to  coincide  with  my  own  ;  for  it  points 
out  that  nothing  can  be  separately  good,  but 
becomes  so  through  fulfillment  of  relations. 
Each  thing  or  person  is  surrounded  by  man 
others.  To  them  it  must  fit  itself.  Bern 
but  a  part,  its  goodness  is  found  in  servin 
that  whole  with  which  it  is  connected.  Tha 
is  a  good  oar  which  suits  well  the  hands  of 
the  rower,  the  row-lock  of  the  boat,  and  the 
resisting  water.  The  white  fur  of  the  polar 
bear,  the  tawny  hide  of  the  lion,  the  camel's 
hump,  giraffe's  neck,  and  the  light  feet  of  the 
antelope,  are  all  alike  good  because  they  adapt 
these  creatures  to  their  special  conditions  of 
existence  and  thus  favor  their  survival.  Nor 
is  there  a  different  standard  for  moral  man. 
His  actions  which  are  accounted  good  arc 
called  so  because  they  are  those  through 
which  he  is  adapted  to  his  surroundings,  fitted 
for  the  society  of  his  fellows,  and  adjusted 
with  the  best  chance  of  survival  to  his  encom- 
passing physical  world. 

While  I  have  warm  approval  for  much  that 
appears  in  such  a  doctrine,  I  think  those 
who  accept  it  may  easily  overlook  certain  im- 
portant elements  of  goodness.  At  best  it  is 


48  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

a  description  of  extrinsic  goodness,  for  it  sep- 
arates the  object  from  its  environment  and 
makes  the  response  of  the  former  to  an  exter- 
nal call  the  measure  of  its  worth.  Of  that 
inner  worth,  or  intrinsic  goodness,  where  full- 
ness and  adjustment  of  relations  go  on  within 
and  not  without,  it  says  nothing.  Yet  I  have 
shown  how  impossible  it  is  to  conceive  one  of 
these  kinds  of  goodness  without  the  other. 

But  a  graver  objection  still  —  or  rather  the 
same  objection  pressed  more  closely  —  is  this. 
The  present  definition  naturally  brings  up  the 
picture  of  certain  constant  and  stable  sur- 
roundings enclosing  an  environed  object  which 
is  to  be  changed  at  their  demand.  No  such 
state  of  things  exists.  There  is  no  fixed  en- 
vironment. It  is  always  fixable.  Every  envfc 
ronment  is  plastic  and  derives  its  character!, 
at  least  partially,  from  the  environed  objecti 
Each  stone  sends  out  its  little  gravitative  and 
chemical  influence  upon  surrounding  stones, 
and  they  are  different  through  being  in  its 
neighborhood.  The  two  become  mutually  af- 
fected, and  it  is  no  more  suitable  to  say  that 
the  object  must  adapt  itself  to  its  environment 
than  that  the  environment  must  be  adapted  to 
its  object. 


MISCONCEPTIONS  OF  GOODNESS 

Indeed,  in  persons  this  second  form  of  state- 
ment is  the  more  important ;  for  the  forcing 
of  circumstances  into  accordance  with  humai 
needs  may  be  said  to  be  the  chief  business  oi 
human  life.  The  man  who  adapts  himself  to" 
his  ignorant,  licentious,  or  malarial  surround- 
ings, is  not  a  type  of  the  good  man.  Of 
course  disregard  of  environment  is  not  good 
either.  Circumstances  have  their  honorable 
powers,  and  these  require  to  be  studied,  re- 
spected, and  employed.  Sometimes  they  are 
so  strong  as  to  leave  a  person  no  other  course 
than  to  adapt  himself  to  them.  He  cannot 
adapt  them  to  himself.  Plato  has  a  good  story 
of  how  a  native  of  the  little  village  of  Seri- 
phus  tried  to  explain  Themistocles  by  means 
of  environment.  "  You  would  not,"  he  said 
to  the  great  man,  "  have  been  eminent  if  you 
had  been  born  in  Seriphus."  "  Probably  not," 
answered  Themistocles,  "  nor  you,  if  you  had 
been  born  in  Athens." 

The  definition  we  are  discussing,  then,  is 
not  true  —  indeed  it  is  hardly  intelligible  — 
if  we  take  it  in  the  one-sided  way  in  which  it 
is  usually  announced.  The  demand  for  adap- 
tation does  not  proceed  exclusively  from  en- 
vironment, surroundings,  circumstance.  The 


50  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

stone,  the  tree,  the  man,  conforms  these  to  it- 
self as  truly  as  it  is  conformed  to  them.  There 
is  mutual  adaptation.  Undoubtedly  this  is  im- 
plied in  the  definition,  and  the  petty  employ- 
ment of  it  which  I  have  been  attacking  would 
be  rejected  also  by  its  wiser  defenders.  But 
when  its  meaning  is  thus  filled  out,  its  vague- 
ness rendered  clear,  and  the  mutual  influence 
which  is  implied  becomes  clearly  announced, 
the  definition  turns  into  the  one  which  I  have 
offered.  Goodness  is  the  expression  of  the 
largest  organization.  Its  aim  is  everywhere 
to  bring  object  and  environment  into  fullest 
cooperation.  We  have  seen  how  in  any  organic 
relationship  every  part  is  both  means  and  end. 
Goodness  tends  toward  organism  ;  and  so  far 
as  it  obtains,  each  member  of  the  universe  re- 
ceives its  own  appropriate  expansion  and  dig- 
nity. The  present  definition  merely  states  the 
great  truth  of  organization  with  too  objective 
an  emphasis ;  as  that  which  found  the  satis- 
faction of  desire  to  be  the  ground  of  good- 
ness over-emphasized  the  subjective  side.  The 
one  is  too  legal,  the  other  too  aesthetic.  Yet 
each  calls  attention  to  an  important  and  sup- 
plementary factor  in  the  formation  of  good- 
ness. 


MISCONCEPTIONS  OF  GOODNESS  51 

VII 

In  closing  these  dull  defining  chapters,  in 
which  I  have  tried  to  sum  up  the  notion  of 
goodness  in  general  —  a  conception  so  thin 
and  empty  that  it  is  equally  applicable  to 
things  and  persons  —  it  may  be  well  to  gather 
together  in  a  single  group  the  several  defini- 
tions we  have  reached. 

Intrinsic  goodness  expresses  the  fulfillment 
of  function  in  the  construction  of  an  organ- 
ism. 

By  an  organism  is  meant  such  an  assem- 
blage of  active  and  differing  parts  that  in  it 
each  part  both  aids  and  is  aided  by  all  the 
others. 

Extrinsic  goodness  is  found  when  an  object 
employs  an  already  constituted  wholeness  to 
further  the  wholeness  of  others. 

A  part  is  good  when  it  furnishes  that  and 
that  only  which  may  add  value  to  other  parts. 

A  greater  good  is  one  more  largely  con- 
tributory to  the  organism  as  its  end. 

A  higher  good  is  one  more  fully  expressive 
of  that  end. 

Probably,  too,  it  will  be  found  convenient 
to  set  down  here  a  couple  of  other  definitions 


52  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

•which  will  hereafter  be  explained  and  em- 
ployed. A  good  act  is  the  expression  of  self- 
hoojiassfiEKice.  By  an  ideal  we  mean  a  mental 
picture  of  a  better  state  of  existence  than  we 
feel  has  actually  been  reached. 


REFERENCES     ON     MISCONCEPTIONS    OF     GOOD- 
NESS 

Alexander's  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  bk.  iii.  ch.  i.  §  10. 
Martineau's  Types  of  Ethical  Theory,  vol.  ii.  bk.  i.  ch.  i.  §  2. 
Mackenzie's  Manual  of  Ethics,  ch.  v.  §  13  &  ch.  vii.  §  2. 
Janet's  Theory  of  Morals,  ch.  iii. 
Dewey's  Outlines  of  Ethics,  §  Ixvii. 
Spencer's  Principles  of  Ethics,  pt.  i.  ch.  3- 


m 

SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS 


ra 

SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS 


IN  the  preceding  chapters  I  have  examined 
only  those  features  of  goodness  -which  are 
common  alike  to  persons  and  to  things. 
Goodness  was  there  seen  to  be  the  expres- 
sion of  function  in  the  construction  of  an 
organism.  That  is,  when  we  ask  if  any  be- 
ing, object,  or  quality  is  good,  we  are  really 
inquiring  how  organic  it  is,  how  much  it  con- 
tributes of  riches  or  solidity  to  some  whole 
or  other.  There  must,  then,  be  as  many 
varieties  of  goodness  as  there  are  modes  of 
constructing  organisms.  A  special  set  of 
functions  will  produce  one  kind  of  organism, 
a  different  set  another ;  and  each  of  these  will 
express  a  peculiar  variety  of  goodness.  If, 
then,  into  the  construction  of  a  person  condi- 
tions enter  which  are  not  found  in  the  making 
of  things,  these  conditions  will  render  personal 


58  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

goodness  to  some  extent  unlike  the  goodness 
of  everything  else. 

Now  I  suppose  that  in  the  contacts  of  life 
we  all  feel  a  marked  difference  between  per- 
sons and  things.  We  know  a  person  when 
we  see  him,  and  are  quite  sure  he  is  not  a 
thing.  Yet  if  we  were  called  on  to  say  pre- 
cisely what  it  is  we  know,  and  how  we  know 
it,  we  should  find  ourselves  in  some  difficulty. 
No  doubt  we  usually  recognize  a  human  being 
by  his  form  and  motions,  but  we  assume  that 
certain  inner  traits  regularly  attend  these  out- 
ward matters,  and  that  in  these  traits  the  real 
ground  of  difference  between  person  and  thing 
is  to  be  found.  How  many  such  distinguish- 
ing differences  exist  ?  Obviously  a  multitude ; 
but  these  are,  I  believe,  merely  various  mani- 
festations of  a  few  fundamental  character- 
istics. Probably  all  can  be  reduced  to  four, 
—  they  are  sfjf -consciousness,  sj3l£dm^tiQn,l 
self-development,  and  self-sacrifice.  Wherever  * 
these  four  traits  are  found,  we  feel  at  once 
that  the  being  who  has  them  is  a  person. 
Whatever  creature  lacks  them  is  but  a  thing, 
and  requires  no  personal  attention.  I  might 
say  more.  These  four  are  so  likely  to  go 
together  that  the  appearance  of  one  gives 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  59 

confidence  of  the  rest.  If,  for  example,  we 
discover  a  being  sacrificing  itself  for  another, 
even  though  we  have  not  previously  thought 
of  it  as  a  person,  it  will  so  stir  sympathy  that 
we  shall  see  in  it  a  likeness  to  our  own  kind. 
Or,  finding  a  creature  capable  of  steering  itself, 
of  deciding  what  its  ends  shall  be,  and  adjust- 
ing its  many  powers  to  reach  them,  we  can- 
not help  feeling  that  there  is  much  in  such  a 
being  like  ourselves,  and  we  are  consequently 
indisposed  to  refer  its  movements  to  mechanic 
adjustment. 

If,  then,  these  are  the  four  conditions  of 
personality,  the  distinctive  functions  by  which 
it  becomes  organically  good,  they  will  evidently 
need  to  be  examined  somewhat  minutely  be- 
fore we  can  rightly  comprehend  the  nature 
of  personal  goodness,  and  detect  its  separation 
from  goodness  in  general.  Such  an  exami- 
nation will  occupy  this  and  the  three  succeed- 
ing chapters.  But  I  shall  devote  myself  exclu- 
sively to  such  features  of  the  four  functions 
as  connect  them  with  ethics.  Many  interest- 
ing metaphysical  and  psychological  questions 
connected  with  them  I  pass  by. 


60  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

II 

There  is  no  need  of  elaborating  the  asser- 
tion that  a  person  is  a  conscious  being.  To 
this  all  will  at  once  agree.  More  important 
is  it  to  inspect  the  stages  through  which  we 
rise  to  consciousness,  for  these  are  often  over- 
looked. People  imagine  that  they  are  self- 
conscious  through  and  through,  and  that  they 
always  have  been.  They  assume  that  the  en- 
tire life  of  a  person  is  the  expression  of  con- 
sciousness alone.  But  this  is  erroneous.  To 
a  large  degree  we  are  allied  with  things. 
While  self-consciousness  is  our  distinctive 
prerogative,  it  is  far  from  being  our  only 
possession.  Rather  we  might  say  that  all 
which  belongs  to  the  under  world  is  ours  too, 
while  self-consciousness  appears  in  us  as  a 
kind  of  surplusage.  No  doubt  it  is  by  the 
distinctive  traits,  those  which  are  not  shared 
with  other  creatures,  that  we  define  our 
special  character ;  but  these  are  not  our  sole 
endowment.  Our  life  is  grounded  in  uncon-j 
sciousness,  and  with  this,  as  students  of) 
personal  goodness,  we  must  first  make  ac-J 
quaintance. 

Yet  how  can  we  become  acquainted  with 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  61 

it  ?    How  grow  conscious  of  the  unconscious  ? 

o 

We  can  but  mark  it  in  a  negative  way  and 
call  it  the  absence  of  consciousness.  That  is 
all.  We  cannot  be  directly  aware  of  ourselves 
as  unconscious.  Indeed,  we  cannot  be  quite 
sure  that  the  physical  things  about  us,  even  or- 
ganic objects,  are  unconscious.  If  somebody 
should  declare  that  the  covers  of  this  book  are 
conscious,  and  respond  to  everything  wise  or 
f  oolish  which  the  writer  puts  between  them, 
there  would  be  no  way  of  confuting  him.  All 
I  could  say  would  be,  "  I  see  no  signs  of  it." 
My  readers  occasionally  give  a  response  and 
show  that  they  do  or  do  not  agree  with  what 
I  say.  But  the  volume  itself  lies  in  stolid  pas- 
sivity, offering  no  resistance  to  whatever  I 
record  in  it.  Since,  then,  there  is  no  evidence 
in  behalf  of  consciousness,  I  do  not  unwar- 
rantably assume  its  presence.  I  save  my  belief 
for  objects  where  it  is  indicated,  and  indicate 
its  absence  elsewhere  by  calling  such  objects 
unconscious. 

But  if  in  human  beings  consciousness  ap- 
pears, what  are  its  marks,  and  how  is  it  known? 
Ought  we  not  to  define  it  at  starting?  I  be- 
lieve it  cannot  be  defined.  Definition  is  taking 
an  idea  to  pieces.  But  there  are  no  pieces  in 


62  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

the  idea  of  consciousness.  It  is  elementary, 
something  in  which  all  other  pieces  begin. 
That  is,  in  attempting  to  define  consciousness, 
I  must  in  every  definition  employed  really 
assume  that  my  hearer  is  acquainted  with  it 
already.  I  cannot  then  define  it  without  cov- 
ert reference  to  experience.  I  might  vary  the 
term  and  call  it  awaredness,  internal  observa- 
tion, psychic  response.  I  might  say  it  is  that 
which  accompanies  all  experience  and  makes 
it  to  be  experience.  But  these  are  not  defi- 
nitions. A  simple  way  to  fix  attention  on  iti 
is  to  say  that  it  is  what  we  feel  less  and  less! 
as  we  sink  into  a  swoon.  What  this  is,  I  can-* 
not  more  precisely  state.  But  in  swoon  or 
sleep  we  are  all  familiar  with  its  diminution  or 
increase,  and  we  recognize  in  it  the  very  color 
of  our  being.  After  my  friend's  remark  I  am 
in  a  different  state  from  that  in  which  I  was 
before.  Something  has  affected  me  which 
may  abide.  This  is  not  the  case  with  a  stone 
post,  or  at  least  there  are  no  signs  of  it  there. 
The  post,  then,  is  unconscious.  We  call  our- 
selves conscious. 

In  unconsciousness  our  lives  began,  and 
from  it  they  have  not  altogether  emerged.  Yet 
unconsciousness  is  a  matter  of  degree.  We 


'SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  63 

may  be  very  much  aware,  aware  but  slightly, 
vanishingly,  not  at  all.  Even  though  we 
never  existed  unconsciously,  we  may  fairly 
assume  such  a  blank  terminus  in  order  the 
better  to  figure  the  present  condition  of  our 
minds.  They  show  sinking  degrees  moving 
off  in  that  direction ;  when  we  think  out  the 
series,  we  come  logically  to  a  point  where 
there  is  no  consciousness  at  all. 

Such  a  point  analogy  also  inclines  us  to 
concede.  In  our  body  we  come  upon  uncon- 
scious sections.  This  body  seems  to  have 
some  connection  with  myself ;  yet  of  its  large 
results  only,  and  not  of  its  minuter  opera- 
tions, can  I  be  distinctly  aware.  In  like 
manner  it  is  held  that  within  the  mind  pro- 
cesses cumulate  and  rise  to  a  certain  height 
before  they  cross  the  threshold  of  conscious- 
ness. Below  that  threshold,  though  actual 
processes,  they  are  unknown  to  us.  The  teach 
ing  of  modern  psychology  is  that  all  menta 
action  is  at  the  start  unconscious,  requiring 
a  certain  bulk  of  stimulus  in  order  to  emerge 
into  conditions  where  we  become  aware  of  it. 
The  cumulated  result  we  know;  the  minute 
factors  which  must  be  gathered  together  to 
form  that  result,  we  do  not  know.  I  do  not 


64  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

pronounce  judgment  on  this  psychological 
question.  I  state  the  belief  merely  in  order 
to  show  how  probable  it  is  that  our  conscious 
life  is  superposed  upon  unconscious  condi- 
tions. 

In  conduct  itself  I  believe  every  one  will 
acknowledge  that  his  moments  of  conscious- 
ness are  like  vivid  peaks,  while  the  great  mass 
of  his  acts  —  even  those  with  which  he  is 
most  familiar  —  occur  unconsciously.  When 
we  read  a  word  on  the  printed  page,  how 
much  of  it  do  we  consciously  observe  ?  Mod- 
ern teachers  of  reading  often  declare  that 
detailed  consciousness  is  here  unnecessary  or 
even  injurious.  Better,  they  say,  take  the 
word,  not  the  letter,  as  the  unit  of  conscious- 
ness. But  taking  merely  the  letter,  how 
minutely  are  we  conscious  of  its  curvatures  ? 
Somewhere  consciousness  must  stop,  resting 
on  the  support  of  unconscious  experiences. 
Matthew  Arnold  has  declared  conduct  to  be 
three  fourths  of  life.  If  we  mean  by  conduct 
consciously  directed  action,  it  is  not  one  fourth. 
\Yet  however  fragmentary,  it  is  that  which 
tenders  all  the  rest  significant. 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  65 

in 

Just  above  our  unconscious  mental  modifi- 
cations appear  the  reflex  actions,  or  instincts. 
Here  experience  is  translated  into  action  be- 
fore it  reaches  consciousness ;  that  is,  though 
the  actions  accomplish  intelligent  ends,  there 
is  no  previous  knowledge  of  the  ends  to  be 
accomplished.  A  flash  of  light  falls  on  my  eye, 
and  the  lid  closes.  It  seems  a  wise  act. 
The  brilliant  light  is  too  fierce.  It  might 
damage  the  delicate  organ.  Prudently,  there- 
fore, I  draw  the  small  curtain  until  the  light 
has  gone,  then  raise  it  and  resume  communi- 
cation with  the  outer  world.  My  action  seems 
planned  for  protection.  In  reality  there  was 
no  plan.  Probably  enough  I  did  not  perceive 
the  flash ;  the  lid,  at  any  rate,  would  close 
equally  well  if  I  did  not.  In  falling  from 
a  height  I  do  not  decide  to  sacrifice  my  arms 
rather  than  my  body,  and  accordingly  stretch 
them  out.  They  stretch  themselves,  without 
intention  on  my  part.  How  anything  so  blind 
yet  so  sagacious  can  occur  will  become  clearer 
if  we  take  an  illustration  from  a  widely  differ- 
ent field. 

To-day  we  are  all  a  good  deal  dependent 


66  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

on  the  telephone ;  though,  not  being  a  patient 
man,  I  can  seldom  bring  myself  to  use  it. 
It  has  one  irritating  feature,  the  central  office, 
or  perhaps  I  might  more  accurately  say,  the 
central  office  girl.  Whenever  I  try  to  com- 
municate with  my  friend,  I  must  first  call  up 
the  central  office,  as  it  is  briefly  called  and 
longly  executed.  Not  until  attention  there 
has  been  with  difficulty  obtained  can  I  come 
into  connection  with  my  friend  ;  for  through 
a  human  consciousness  at  that  mediating  point 
every  message  must  pass.  In  that  central  of- 
fice are  accordingly  three  necessary  things ; 
viz.,  an  incoming  wire,  a  consciousness,  and  an 
outgoing  wire  ;  and  I  am  helpless  till  all  these 
three  have  been  brought  into  cooperation. 
Really  I  have  often  thought  life  too  short 
for  the  performance  of  such  tasks.  And  ap- 
parently our  Creator  thought  so  at  the  begin- 
ning,  when  in  contriving  machinery  for  us  he 
dispensed  with  the  hindering  factor  of  a  cen- 
tral office  operator.  For  applied  to  our  previ- 
ous example  of  a  flash  of  light,  the  incoming 
message  corresponds  to  the  sensuous  report  of 
the  flash,  the  outgoing  message  to  the  closure 
of  the  eye,  and  the  unfortunate  central  office 
girl  has  disappeared.  The  afferent  nerve 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  67 

reports  directly  to  the  efferent,  without  pass- 
ing the  message  through  consciousness.  A 
fortune  awaits  him  who  will  contrive  a  similar 
improvement  for  the  telephone.  A  special 
sound  sent  into  the  switch-box  must  automat- 
ically, and  without  human  intervention,  oblige 
an  indicated  wire  to  take  up  the  uttered 
words.  The  continuous  arc  thus  established, 
without  employment  of  the  at  present  neces- 
sary girl,  will  exactly  represent  the  exquisite 
machinery  of  reflex  action  which  each  of  us 
bears  about  in  his  own  brain.  Here,  as  in 
our  improved  telephone,  the  announcement 
itself  establishes  the  connections  needful  for 
farther  transmission,  without  employing  the 
judgment  of  any  operating  official. 

By  such  means  power  is  economized  and 
action  becomes  extremely  swift  and  sure. 
Promptness,  too,  being  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance for  protective  purposes,  creatures  which 
are  rich  in  such  instincts  have  a  large  practi- 
cal advantage  over  those  who  lack  them.  It 
is  often  assumed  that  brutes  alone  are  instinc- 
tive, and  that  man  must  deliberate  over  each 
occasion.  But  this  is  far  from  the  fact.  Prob- 
ably at  birth  man  has  as  many  instincts  as 
any  other  animal.  And  though  as  conscious- 


68  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

ness  awakes  and  takes  control,  some  of  these 
become  unnecessary  and  fall  away,  new  ones  — 
as  will  hereafter  be  shown  —  are  continually 
established,  and  by  them  the  heavy  work  of 
life  is  for  the  most  part  performed.  Personal 
goodness  cannot  be  rightly  understood  till 
we  perceive  how  it  is  superposed  on  a  broad 
reflex  mechanism. 

IV 

But  higher  in  the  personal  life  than  un- 
consciousness, higher  than  the  reflex  instincts, 
are  the  conscious  experiences.  By  these,  we 
for  the  first  time  became  aware  of  what  is 
going  on  within  us  and  without.  Messages 
sent  from  the  outer  world  are  stopped  at  a 
central  office  established  in  consciousness, 
looked  over,  and  deciphered.  We  judge 
whether  they  require  to  be  sent  in  one  direc- 
tion or  another,  or  whether  we  may  not  rest 
in  their  simple  cognizance.  Every  moment 
we  receive  a  multitude  of  such  messages. 
They  are  not  always  called  for,  but  they  come 
of  themselves.  My  hand  carelessly  falling  on 
the  table  reports  in  terms  of  touch.  A  per- 
son near  me  laughs,  and  I  must  hear.  I  see 
the  flowers  on  the  table  ;  smell  reports  them 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  69 

too;  while  taste  declares  their  leaves  to  be 
bitter  and  pungent.  All  this  time  the  inner 
organs,  with  the  processes  of  breathing,  blood 
circulation,  and  nervous  action,  are  announc- 
ing their  acute  or  massive  experiences.  Con- 
tinually, and  not  by  our  own  choice,  our  minds 
are  affected  by  the  transactions  around.  Sen- 
sations occur  — 

"  The  eye,  it  cannot  choose  but  see  ; 
We  cannot  bid  the  ear  be  still  ; 
Our  bodies  feel,  where'er  they  be, 
Against  or  with  our  will." 

These  itemized  experiences  thus  pouring  in 
upon  our  passive  selves  are  found  to  vary  end- 
lessly also  in  degree,  time,  and  locality.  Through 
such  variations  indeed  they  become  itemized. 
"  Therefore  is  space  and  therefore  time,"  says  \ 
Emerson,  "  that  men  may  know  that  things  \ 
are  not   huddled  and  lumped,  but  sundered  \ 
and  divisible." 

V 

Have  we  not,  then,  here  reached  the  highest 
point  of  personal  life,  self -consciousness  ?  No, 
that  is  a  peak  higher  still,  for  this  is  but  con- 
sciousness. Undoubtedly  from  consciousness 
self-consciousness  grows,  often  appearing  by 


70  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

degrees  and  being  extremely  difficult  to  dis- 
criminate. Yet  the  two  are  not  the  same. 
Possibly  in  marking  the  contrast  between  them 
I  may  be  able  to  gain  the  collateral  advantage 
of  ridding  myself  of  those  disturbers  of  ethi- 
cal discussion,  the  brutes.  Whenever  I  am 
nearing  an  explanation  of  some  moral  intricacy 
one  of  my  students  is  sure  to  come  forward 
with  a  dog  and  to  ask  whether  what  I  have 
said  shows  that  dog  to  be  a  moral  and  respon- 
sible being.  So  I  like  to  watch  afar  and  ban- 
ish the  brutes  betimes.  Perhaps  if  I  bestow 
a  little  attention  on  them  at  present,  I  may 
keep  the  creatures  out  of  my  pages  for  the 
future. 

Many  writers  maintain  that  brutes  differ 
from  us  precisely  in  this  particular,  that  whil 
they  possess  consciousness  they  have  not  self 
consciousness.  A  brute,  they  say,  has  just 
such  experiences  as  I  have  been  describing :  he 
tastes,  smells,  hears,  sees,  touches.  All  this 
he  may  do  with  greater  intensity  and  precision 
than  we.  But  he  is  entirely  wrapped  up  in  these 
separate  sensations.  The  single  experience 
holds  his  attention.  He  knows  no  other  self 
than  that ;  or,  strictly  speaking,  he  knows  no 
self  at  all.  It  is  the  experience  he  knows,  and 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  71 

not  himself  the  experiencer.  We  say,  "  The 
cat  feels  herself  warm  ;  "  but  is  it  quite  so  ? 
Does  she  feel  herself,  or  does  she  feel  warm  ? 
Which  ?  If  we  may  trust  the  writers  to  whom 
I  have  referred,  we  ought  rather  to  say,  "  The 
cat  feels  warm  "  than  that  "  she  feels  herself 
warm ;  "  for  this  latter  statement  implies  a 
distinction  of  which  she  is  in  no  way  aware. 
She  does  not  set  off  her  passing  moods  in  con- 
trast to  a  self  who  might  be  warm  or  cold, 
active  or  idle,  hungry  or  satiated.  The  expe- 
rience of  the  instant  occupies  her  so  entirely 
that  in  reality  the  cat  ceases  to  be  a  cat  and 
becomes  for  the  moment  just  warm.  So  it  is 
in  all  her  seeming  activities.  When  she  chases 
a  mouse  we  rightly  say,  "  She  is  chasing  a 
mouse,"  for  then  she  is  nothing  else.  Such 
a  state  of  things  is  at  least  conceivable.  We 
can  imagine  momentary  experiences  to  be  so 
engrossing  that  the  animal  is  exclusively  occu- 
pied with  them,  unable  to  note  connections 
with  past  and  future,  or  even  with  herself, 
their  perceiver.  Through  very  fullness  of 
consciousness  brutes  may  be  lacking  in  self 
consciousness. 

Whether  this  is  the  case  with  the  brutes  or 
not,  something  quite  different  occurs  in  us. 


1 


72  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

No  particular  experience  can  satisfy  us;  we 
accordingly  say,  not  "  I  am  an  experience/' 
but  "  I  have  an  experience."  To  be  able  to 
throw  off  the  bondage  of  the  moment  is  the 
distinctive  characteristic  of  a  person.  When 
Shelley  watches  the  skylark,  he  envies  him 
his  power  of  whole-heartedly  seizing  a  momen- 
tary joy.  Then  turning  to  himself,  and  feel- 
ing that  his  own  condition,  if  broader,  is  on 
that  very  account  more  liable  to  sorrow,  he 
cries,  — 

"  We  look  before  and  after, 
And  pine  for  what  is  not." 

That  is  the  mark  of  man.  He  looks  before 
and  after.  The  outlook  of  the  brute,  if  the 
questionable  account  which  I  have  given  of 
hun  is  correct,  is  different.  He  looks  to  the 
present  exclusively.  The  momentary  experi- 
ence takes  all  his  attention.  If  it  does  not, 
he  too  in  his  little  degree  is  a  person.  Could 
we  determine  this  simple  point  in  the  brute's 
psychology,  he  would  at  once  become  avail- 
able for  ethical  material.  At  present  we  can- 
not use  him  for  such  purposes,  nor  say  whether 
he  is  selfish  or  self-sacrificing,  possessed  of 
moral  standards  and  accountable,  or  driven  by 
subtle  yet  automatic  reflexes.  The  obvious 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  73 

facts  of  him  may  be  interpreted  plausibly  in 
either  way,  and  he  cannot  speak.  Till  he 
can  give  us  a  clearer  account  of  this  central 
fact  of  his  being,  we  shall  not  know  whether 
he  is  a  poor  relation  of  ours  or  is  rather  akin 
to  rocks,  and  clouds,  and  trees.  I  incline  to  the 
former  guess,  and  am  ready  to  believe  that 
between  him  and  us  there  is  only  a  difference 
of  degree.  But  since  in  any  case  he  stands 
at  an  extreme  distance  from  ourselves,  we 
may  for  purposes  of  explanation  assume  that 
distance  to  be  absolute,  and  talk  of  him  as 
having  no  share  in  the  prerogative  announced 
by  Shelley.  So  regarded,  we  shall  say  of  him 
that  he  does  not  compare  or  adjust.  He  does 
not  organize  experiences  and  know  a  single 
self  running  through  them  all.  Whenever 
an  experience  takes  him,  it  swallows  his  self 
—  a  self,  it  is  true,  which  he  never  had. 

It  is  sometimes  assumed  that  Shelley  was 
the  first  to  announce  this  weighty  distinction. 
Philosophers  of  course  were  familiar  with  it 
long  ago,  but  the  poets  too  had  noticed  it 
before  the  skylark  told  Shelley.  Burns  says 
to  the  mouse  :  — 

"  Still  thou  art  blest,  compared  wi'  me  ! 
The  present  only  toucheth  thee  : 


74  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

But,  och  !  I  backward  cast  my  e'e 

On  prospects  drear  ! 
An'  forward  tho'  1  caiina  see, 

I  guess  an'  fear." 

This  looking  backward  and  forward  which 
is  the  ground  of  man's  grandeur,  is  also, 
Burns  thinks,  the  ground  of  his  misery ;  for 
in  it  is  rooted  his  self -consciousness,  something 
widely  unlike  the  itemized  consciousness  of 
the  brute.  Shakespere,  too,  found  in  us  the 
same  distinctive  trait.  Hamlet  reflects  how 
God  has  made  us  "with  such  discourse, 
looking  before  and  after."  We  possess  dis- 
course, can  move  about  intellectually,  and  are 
not  shut  up  to  the  moment.  But  ages  be- 
fore Shakespere  the  fact  had  been  observed. 
Homer  knew  all  about  it,  and  in  the  last 
book  of  the  Odyssey  extols  Halitherses,  the 
son  of  Master,  as  one  "  able  to  look  before  and 
after."  MacrroptS^?  6  yap  oto?  opa  Trpocro-a) 
/cat  67rurcrft>.  This  is  the  mark  of  the  wise 
man,  not  merely  marking  off  person  from 
brute,  but  person  from  person  according  to 
the  degree  of  personality  attained.  It  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  child  to  show  little  foresight, 
little  hindsight.  He  takes  the  present  as  it 
comes,  and  lives  in  it.  We  who  are  more 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  75 

mature  and  rational  contemplate  him  with 
the  same  envy  we  feel  for  the  skylark  and 
the  mouse,  and  often  say,  "  Would  I  too  could 
so  suck  the  joys  of  the  present,  without  re- 
flecting that  something  else  is  coming  and 
something  else  is  gone." 

VI 

Yet  after  becoming  possessed  of  self-con- 
sciousness, we  do  not  steadily  retain  it.  States 
of  mind  occur  where  the  self  slips  out,  though 
vivid  consciousness  remains.  As  I  sit  in  my 
chair  and  fix  my  eye  on  the  distance,  a  day-* 
dream  or  reverie  comes  over  me.  I  see  a  pic- 
ture, another,  another.  Somebody  speaks  and 
I  am  recalled.  "  Why,  here  I  am  !  This  is 
I."  I  find  myself  once  more.  I  had  lost 
myself  —  paradoxical  yet  accurate  expression. 
We  have  many  such  to  indicate  the  disappear- 
ance of  self-consciousness  at  moments  of  ela- 
tion. "  I  was  absorbed  in  thought,"  we  say ; 
the  I  was  sucked  out  by  strenuous  attention 
elsewhere.  "  I  was  swept  away  with  grief," 
i.  e.y  I  vanished,  while  grief  held  sway.  "  I 
was  transported  with  delight,"  "  I  was  over- 
whelmed with  shame,"  and  —  perhaps  most 
beautiful  of  all  these  fragments  of  poetic 


76  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

psychology,  —  "  I  was  beside  myself  with 
terror,"  I  felt  myself  to  be  near,  but  was 
still  parted ;  through  the  fear  I  could  merely 
catch  glimpses  of  the  one  who  was  terri- 
fied. 

These  and  similar  phrases  suggest  the  ^in- 
stability of  self-consciousness.  It  is  not  fixedj 
once  and  forever,  but  varies  continually  and! 
within  a  wide  range  of  degree.  We  like  td 
think  that  man  possesses  full  self-conscious- 
ness, while  other  creatures  have  none.  Our 
minds  are  disposed  to  part  off  things  with 
sharpness,  but  nature  cares  less  about  sharp 
divisions  and  seems  on  the  whole  to  prefer 
subtle  gradations  and  unstable  varieties.  So 
the  self  has  all  degrees  of  vividness.  Of  it 
we  never  have  an  experience  barely.  It  is 
always  in  some  condition,  colored  by  what  it 
is  mixed  with.  I  know  myself  speaking  or 
angry  or  hearing ;  I  know  myself,  that  is,  in 
some  special  mood.  But  never  am  I  able  to 
sunder  this  self  from  the  special  mass  of  con- 
sciousness in  which  it  is  immersed  and  to 
gaze  upon  it  pure  and  simple.  At  times  that 
mass  of  consciousness  is  so  engrossing  that 
hardly  a  trace  of  the  self  remains.  At  times 
the  sense  of  being  shut  up  to  one's  self  is  pos- 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  77 

itively  oppressive.  Between  the  two  extremes 
there  is  endless  variation.  When  we  call  self- 
consciousness  the  prerogative  of  man  we  do 
not  mean  that  he  fully  possesses  it,  but  only 
that  he  may  possess  it,  may  possess  it  more 
and  more ;  and  that  in  it,  rather  than  in  the 
merely  conscious  life,  the  significance  of  his 
being  is  found. 

VII 

Probably   we   are   born  without   it.     We 
know   how  gradually  the  infant  acquires   a 
mastery  of  its  sensuous  experience ;  and  it  is 
likely  that  for  a  long  time  after  it  has  ob- 
tained command  of  its  single  experiences  it 
remains  unaware  of  its  selfhood.    In  a  classic 
passage  of  "  In  Memoriam  "   Tennyson  has 
stated  the  case  with  that  blending  of  witchery^ 
and   scientific   precision  of  which   he   alone] 
among  the  poets  seems  capable  :  — 

"  The  baby,  new  to  earth  and  sky, 

What  time  his  tender  palm  is  prest 
Against  the  circle  of  the  breast, 
Has  never  thought  that  '  this  is  I.' 

u  But  as  he  grows  he  gathers  much, 
And  learns  the  use  of  '  I '  and  '  me,' 
And  finds  '  I  am  not  what  I  see, 
And  other  than  the  things  I  touch.' 


78  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

"  So  rounds  be  to  a  separate  mind, 

From  whence  clear  memory  may  begin, 
As  tbro'  the  frame  that  binds  him  in 
His  isolation  grows  defined." 

Until  he  has  separated  his  mind  from  the  ob- 
jects around,  and  even  from  his  own  conscious 
states,  he  cannot  perceive  himself  and  obtain 
clear  memory.  No  child  recalls  his  first  year, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  during  that  year  he 
was  not  there.  Of  course  there  was  experi- 
ence during  that  year,  there  was  conscious- 
ness; but  the  child  could  not  discriminate 
himself  from  the  crowding  experiences  and  so 
reach  self -consciousness.  At  what  precise 
time  this  momentous  possibility  occurs  can- 
not be  told.  Probably  the  time  varies  widely 
in  different  children.  In  any  single  child  it 
announces  itself  by  degrees,  and  usually  so 
subtly  that  its  early  manifestations  are  hardly 
perceptible.  Occasionally,  especially  when 
long  deferred,  it  breaks  with  the  suddenness 
of  an  epoch,  and  the  child  is  aware  of  a  new 
existence.  A  little  girl  of  my  acquaintance 
turned  from  play  to  her  mother  with  the  cry, 
"  Why,  mamma,  little  girls  don't  know  that 
they  are."  She  had  just  discovered  it.  In 
a  famous  passage  of  his  autobiography,  Jean 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  79 

Paul  Richter  has  recorded  the  great  change  in 
himself  :  "  Never  shall  I  forget  the  inward 
experience  of  the  birth  of  self-consciousness. 
I  well  remember  the  time  and  place.  I  stood 
one  afternoon,  a  very  young  child,  at  the 
house-door,  and  looked  at  the  logs  of  wood 
piled  on  the  left.  Suddenly  an  inward  con- 
sciousness, *I  am  a  Me,'  came  like  a  flash 
of  lightning  from  heaven,  and  has  remained 
ever  since.  At  that  moment  my  existence 
became  conscious  of  itself,  and  forever." 

The  knowledge  that  I  am  an  I  cannot  be 
conveyed  to  me  by  another  human  being, 
nor  can  I  perceive  anything  similar  in  him. 
Each  must  ascertain  it  for  himself.  Accord- 
ingly there  is  only  one  word  in  every  language 
which  is  absolutely  unique,  bearing  a  different 
meaning  for  every  one  who  employs  it.  That 
is  the  word  I.  For  me  to  use  it  in  the  sense 
that  you  do  would  prove  that  I  had  lost  my 
wits.  Whatever  enters  into  my  usage  is  out 
of  it  in  yours.  Obviously,  then,  the  meaning 
of  this  word  cannot  be  taught.  Everything 
else  may  be.  What  the  table  is,  what  is  a 
triangle,  what  virtue,  heaven,  or  a  spherodac- 
tyl,  you  can  teach  me.  What  I  am,  you  can- 
not; for  no  one  has  ever  had  an  experience 


80  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

corresponding  to  this  except  myself.  People 
in  speaking  to  me  call  me  John,  Baby,  or  Ned, 
an  externally  descriptive  name  which  has  sub- 
stantially a  common  meaning  for  all  who  see 
me.  When  I  begin  to  talk  I  repeat  this 
name  imitatively,  and  thinking  of  myself  as 
others  do.  I  speak  of  myself  in  the  third  per- 
son. Yet  how  early  that  reference  to  a  third 
person  begins  to  be  saturated  with  self-con- 
sciousness, who  can  say?  Before  the  word 
"  I "  is  employed,  "  Johnny  "  or  "  Baby  "  may 
have  been  diverted  into  an  egoistic  signifi- 
cance. All  we  can  say  is  that "  I "  cannot  be 
rightly  employed  until  consciousness  has  risen 
to  self-consciousness. 

VIII 

And  when  it  has  so  risen,  its  unity  and 
coherence  are  by  no  means  secure.  I  have 
already  pointed  out  how  often  it  is  lost  in 
moments  when  the  conscious  element  becomes 
particularly  intense.  But  in  morbid  condi- 
tions too  it  sometimes  undergoes  a  disruption 
still  more  peculiar.  Just  as  disintegration 
may  attack  any  other  organic  unit,  so  may  it 
appear  in  the  personal  life.  The  records  of 
hypnotism  and  other  related  phenomena  show 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  81 

cases  where  self-consciousness  appears  to  be 
distributed  among  several  selves.  These  curi- 
ous experiences  have  received  more  attention 
in  recent  years  than  ever  before.  They  do 
not,  however,  belong  to  my  field,  and  to  con- 
sider them  at  any  length  would  only  divert 
attention  from  my  proper  topic.  But  they 
deserve  mention  in  passing  in  order  to  make 
plain  how  wayward  is  self -consciousness,  — 
how  far  from  an  assured  possession  of  its 
unity. 

This  unity  seems  temporarily  suspended  on 
occasion  of  swoon  or  nervous  shock.  An  in- 
teresting case  of  its  loss  occurred  in  my  own 
experience.  Many  years  ago  I  was  fond  of 
horseback  riding ;  and  having  a  horse  that  was 
unusually  easy  in  the  saddle,  I  persisted  in 
riding  him  long  after  my  groom  had  warned 
me  of  danger.  He  had  grown  weak  in  the 
knees  and  was  inclined  to  stumble.  Riding! 
one  evening,  I  came  to  a  little  bridge.  I  re-, 
member  watching  the  rays  of  the  sunset  as  I 
approached  it.  Something  too  of  my  college 
work  was  in  my  mind,  associated  with  the 
evening  colors.  And  then  —  well,  there  was 
no  "  then."  The  next  I  knew  a  voice  was 
calling,  "  Is  that  you  ?  "  And  I  was  surprised 


82  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

to  find  that  it  was.  I  was  entering  my  own 
gateway,  leading  my  horse.  I  answered 
blindly,  "  Something  has  happened.  I  must 
have  been  riding.  Perhaps  I  have  fallen." 
I  put  my  hand  to  my  face  and  found  it 
bloody.  I  led  my  horse  to  his  post,  entered 
the  house,  and  relapsed  again  into  uncon- 
sciousness. When  I  came  to  myself,  and  was 
questioned  about  my  last  remembrance,  I  re- 
called the  little  bridge.  We  went  to  it  the 
next  day.  There  lay  my  riding  whip.  There  in 
the  sand  were  the  marks  of  a  body  which  had 
been  dragged.  Plainly  it  was  there  that  the 
accident  had  occurred,  yet  it  was  three  quar- 
ters of  a  mile  from  my  house.  When  thrown, 
I  had  struck  on  my  forehead,  making  an  ugly 
hole  in  it.  Two  or  three  gashes  were  on 
other  parts  of  the  head.  But  I  had  appar- 
ently still  held  the  rein,  had  risen  with  the 
horse,  had  walked  by  his  side  till  I  came  to 
four  corners  in  the  road,  had  there  taken  the 
proper  turn,  passed  three  houses,  and  entep 
ing  my  own  gate  then  for  the  first  time  be- 
came aware  of  what  was  happening. 

What  had  been  happening  ?  About  twenty 
minutes  would  be  required  to  perform  this 
elaborate  series  of  actions,  and  they  had  been 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  83 

performed  exactly  as  if  I  had  been  guiding 
them,  while  in  reality  I  knew  nothing  about 
them.  Shall  we  call  my  conduct  unconscious 
cerebration?  Yes,  if  we  like  large  words 
which  cover  ignorance.  I  do  not  see  how  we 
can  certainly  say  what  was  going  on.  Per- 
haps during  all  this  time  I  had  neither  con- 
sciousness nor  self-consciousness.  I  may  have 
been  a  mere  automaton,  under  the  control  of 
a  series  of  reflex  actions.  The  feeling  of  the 
reins  in  my  hands  may  have  set  me  erect. 
The  feeling  of  the  ground  beneath  my  feet 
may  have  projected  these  along  their  way ; 
and  all  this  with  no  more  consciousness  than 
the  falling  man  has  in  stretching  out  his  hands. 
Or,  on  the  contrary,  I  may  have  been  sepa- 
rately conscious  in  each  little  instant;  but  in 
the  shaken  condition  of  the  brain  may  not 
have  had  power  to  spare  for  gluing  together 
these  instants  and  knitting  them  into  a  whole. 
It  may  be  it  was  only  memory  which  failed. 
I  cite  the  case  to  show  the  precarious  character 
of  self-consciousness.  It  appears  and  disap- 
pears. Our  life  is  glorified  by  its  presence, 
and  from  it  obtains  its  whole  significance. 
Whatever  we  are  convinced  possesses  it  we 
certainly  declare  to  be  a  person.  Yet  it  is  a 


84  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

gradual  acquisition,  and  must  be  counted  ra- 
ther a  goal  than  a  possession.  Under  it,  as 
the  height  of  our  being,  are  ranged  the  three 
other  stages,  —  consciousness,  reflex  action, 
and  unconsciousness. 


REFERENCES    ON   SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS 

James's  Psychology,  ch.  x. 

Royce's  Studies  of  Good  and  Evil,  ch.  vi.-ix. 

Terrier's  Philosophy  of  Consciousness,  in  his  Philosophical 

Remains. 

Calkins's  Introduction  to  Psychology,  bk.  ii. 
Wundt's  Human  and  Animal  Psychology,  lect.  xxvii. 


r\r 

SELF-DIRECTION 


IV 

SELF-DIRECTION 

* 

I 

IN  the  last  chapter  I  began  to  discuss  the 
nature  of  goodness  distinctively  personal. 
This  has  its  origin  in  the  differing  constitu- 
tions of  persons  and  things.  Into  the  making 
of  a  person  four  characteristics  enter  which 
are  not  needed  in  the  formation  of  a  thing. 
The  most  fundamental  of  these  I  examined. 
Persons  and  things  are  unlike  in  this,  that 
each  force  which  stirs  within  a  self-conscious 
person  is  correlated  with  all  his  other  forces. 
So  great  and  central  is  this  correlation  that  a 
EggggiLJflin  aftj}  "  T  hayp  a™  oxpomaaa^"  not 
—  as,  possibly,  the  brutes  —  "  I  am  an  expe- 
rience." Yet  although  a  person  tends  thus 
to  be  a'n  organic  whole,  he  did  not  begin  his 
existence  in  conscious  unity.  Probably  the 
early  stages  of  our  life  are  to  be  sought  rather 
in  the  regions  of  unconsciousness.  Rising  out 


90  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

of  unconscious  conditions  into 


—  those  ingenious  provisions  for  our  security 
at  times  when  we  have  no  directing  powers 
of  our  own  —  we  gradually  pass  into  condi-* 
tions  of  consciousness,  where  we  are  able  to 
seize  the  single  experience  and  to  be  absorbed 
in  it.  Out  of  this  emerges  by  degrees  an  ap- 
prehension of  ourselves  contrasted  with  our 
experiences.  Even,  however,  when  this  self- 
consciousness  is  once  established,  it  may  on 
vivacious  or  morbid  occasions  be  overthrown. 
It  by  no  means  attends  all  the  events  of  our 
lives.  Yet  it  marks  all  conduct  that  can  be 
called  good.  Goodness  which  is  distinctively 
personal  must  in  some  way  express  the  forma4 
tion  and  maintenance  of  a  self-conscious  lif  e.  j 
But  more  is  needed.  A  person  fashioned 
in  the  way  described  would  be  aware  of  him- 
self, aware  of  his  mental  changes,  perhaps 
aware  of  an  objective  order  of  things  produ- 
cing these  changes,  and  still  might  have  no  real 
share  himself  in  what  was  going  on.  We  can 
at  least  imagine  a  being  merely  contempla- 
tive. He  sits  as  a  spectator  at  his  own  drama. 
Trains  of  associated  ideas  pass  before  his  in- 
terested gaze  ;  a  multitude  of  transactions  oc- 
cur in  his  contemplated  surroundings  ;  but  he 


SELF-DIRECTION  91 

is  powerless  to  intervene.  He  passively  be- 
holds, and  does  nothing.  If  such  a  state  of 
things  can  be  imagined,  and  if  something  like 
it  occasionally  occurs  in  our  experience,  it  does 
not  represent  our  normal  condition.  Our  life 
is  no  mere  affair  of  vision.  Self-consciousness 
counts  as  a  factor.  Through  it  changes  arise 
both  without  and  within.  I  accordingly  en- 
title this  fourth  chapter  Self -direction.  In  it 
I  propose  to  consider  how  our  life  goes  forth 
in  action  ;  for  in  fact  wherever  self-consciousH 
ness  appears,  there  is  developed  also  a  centre] 
of  activity,  and  an  activity  of  an  altogether 
peculiar  kind. 

It  is  well  known  that  in  interpreting  these 
facts  of  action  the  judgment  of  ethical  writers 
is  divided.  Libertarians  and  defrgrminista  are 
here  at  issue.  Into  their  controversy  I  do  not 
desire  to  enter.  I  mean  to  attempt  a  brief 
summary  of  those  facts  relating  to  human  ac- 
tion which  are  tolerably  weh1  agreed  upon  by 
writers  of  both  schools.  In  these  there  are 
intricacies  enough.  To  raise  the  hand,  to 
wave  it  in  the  air,  to  lay  it  on  the  table  again, 
would  ordinarily  be  reckoned  simple  matters. 
Yet  operations  so  simple  as  these  I  shall  show 
pass  through  half  a  dozen  steps,  though  they 


92  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

are  ordinarily  performed  so  swiftly  that  we 
do  not  notice  their  several  parts.  In  life 
much  is  knitted  together  which  cannot  be  un- 
derstood without  dissection.  In  such  dissec- 
tion I  must  now  engage.  As  a  good  peda- 
gogue I  must  discuss  operations  separately 
which  in  reality  get  all  their  meaning  through 
being  found  together.  Against  the  necessary 
distortions  of  such  a  method  the  reader  must 
be  on  his  guard. 

II 

In  the  total  process  of  self-direction  there 
are  evidently  two  main  divisions,  —  a  mental 
purpose  must  be  formed,  and  then  this  purpose 
must  be  sent  forth  into  the  outer  world.  It 
is  there  accepted  by  those  agencies  of  a  physi- 
cal sort  which  wait  to  do  our  bidding.  The 
formation  of  the  mental  purpose  I  will,  for 
the  sake  of  brevity,  call  the  infontiop  ;  and 
to  the  sending  of  it  forth  I  will  give  the 
name  volition.  That  these  terms  are  not 
always  confined  within  these  limits  is  plain. 
But  I  shall  not  force  their  meaning  unduly  by 
employing  them  so,  and  I  need  a  pair  of 
terms  to  mark  the  great  contrasted  sides  of 
self-direction.  The  intention  (A)  shall  desig- 


SELF-DIEECTION  93 

nate  the  subjective  side.  But  those  objective 
adjustments  which  fit  it  to  emerge  and  seek 
in  an  outer  world  its  full  expression  I  shall 
call  the  volition  (B). 

For  the  present,  then,  regarding  entirely  the 
former,  let  us  see  how  an  intention  arises,  — 
how  self-consciousness  sets  to  work  in  stirring 
up  activity.  To  gain  clearness  I  shall  distin- 
guish three  subordinate  stages,  designating 
them  by  special  names  and  numerals. 

Ill 

At  the  start  we  are  guided  by  an  end  or 
ideal  of  what  we  would  bring  about.  To  a 
being  destitute  of  self -consciousness  only  a 
single  sort  of  action  is  at  any  moment  possi- 
ble. When  a  certain  force  falls  upon  it,  it 
meets  with  a  fixed  response.  Or,  if  the  caus- 
ative forces  are  many,  what  happens  is  but 
the  well-established  resultant  of  these  forces 
operating  upon  a  being  as  definite  in  nature 
as  they.  Such  a  being  contemplates  no  future 
to  be  reached  through  motions  set  up  within 
it.  Its  motions  do  not  occur  for  the  sake  of 
realizing  in  coming  time  powers  as  yet  but 
half -existent.  It  is  not  guided  by  ideals. 
Its  actions  set  forth  merely  what  it  steadily  is, 


94  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNZSS 

not  what  it  might  be.  Something  like  the 
opposite  of  all  this  shapes  personal  acts.  A 
person  has  imagination.  He  contemplates 
future  events  as  possible  before  they  occur, 
and  this  contemplation  is  one  of  the  very 
factors  which  bring  them  about.  For  exam- 
ple :  while  writing  here,  I  can  emancipate  my 
thought  from  this  present  act  and  set  myself 
to  imagining  my  situation  an  hour  hence.  At 
that  time  I  perceive  I  may  be  still  at  my 
writing-desk,  I  may  be  walking  the  streets,  I 
may  be  at  the  theatre,  or  calling  on  my  friend. 
A  dozen,  a  hundred,  future  possibilities  are 
depicted  as  open  to  me.  On  one  or  another  of 
these  I  fix  my  attention,  thereby  giving  it  a 
causal  force  over  other  present  ideas,  and  ren« 
dering  its  future  realization  likely. 

So  enormously  important  is  imagination! 
By  it  we  effect  our  emancipation  from  the! 
present.  Without  this  p^w0*  to  summon  pic4 
tures  of  situations  which  at  present  are 
not,  w^usfajuTfT  ng  freairtly  lilrfi  thn  thin^n  nr 
brjites-alfeady-dcscribcd .  For  in  the  thing  a 
determined  sequence  follows  every  impulse. 
There  is  no  ambiguous  future  disclosed,  no 
variety  of  possibilities,  no  alternatives.  Pre- 
sent things  under  definite  causes  have  but  a 


SELF-DIRECTION  95 

single  issue;  and  if  the  account  given  of  the 
brute  is  correct,  his  condition  is  unlike  that 
of  things  only  in  this  respect,  that  in  him 
curious  automatic  springs  are  provided  which 
set  him  in  appropriate  motion  whenever  he  is 
exposed  to  harm,  so  enabling  him  suitably  to 
face  a  future  of  which,  however,  he  forms  no 
image.  In  both  brutes  and  things  there  is 
entire  limitation  to  the  present.  This  is  not 
the  case  with  a  person.  He  takes  the  future 
into  his  reckoning,  and  over  him  it  is  at  least 
as  influential  as  the  past.  A  person,  through 
imagination  laying  hold  of  future  possibilities, 
has  innumerable  auxiliary  forces  at  his  com- 
mand. Choice  appears.  A  depicted  future 
thus  held  by  attention  for  causal  purposes 
is  no  longer  a  mere  idea ;  it  becomes  an  ideal. 
But  in  order  to  transform  the  depicted  fu- 
ture from  an  idea  to  an  ideal,  I  must  conceive 
it  as  rooted  in  my  nature,  and  in  some  degree 
dependent  on  my  power.  Attracted  by  the 
brilliancy  of  the  crescent  moon,  I  think  what 
sport  it  would  be  to  hang  on  one  of  its  horns 
and  kick  my  heels  in  the  air.  But  no,  that 
remains  a  mere  picture.  It  will  not  become 
an  ideal,  for  it  has  no  relation  to  my  structure 
and  powers.  But  there  are  other  imaginable 


96  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

futures, —  going  to  Europe,  becoming  a  physi- 
cian, writing  a  book,  buying  a  house,  which, 
though  not  fully  compatible  with  one  another, 
still  represent,  each  one  of  them,  some  capac- 
ity of  mine.  Attention  to  one  or  the  other  of 
these  will  make  it  a  reality  in  my  life.  They 
are  competing  ideals,  and  because  of  such 
competition  my  future  is  uncertain.  The  am- 
biguous future  is  accordingly  a  central  char- 
acteristic of  a  person.  He  can  imagine  all 
sorts  of  states  of  himself  which  as  yet  have 
no  existence,  and  one  of  these  selected  as  an 
ideal  may  become  efficient.  This  first  stagey 
then,  in  the  formation  of  the  purpose,  where 
various  depicted  future  possibilities  are  sum- 
moned for  assessment,  may  be  called  our 
fashioning  of  an  ideal. 

IV 

But  a  second  stage  succeeds,  the  stage  of 
desire.  Indeed,  though  I  call  it  a  second,  it 
is  really  but  a  special  aspect  of  the  first ;  for 
the  ideal  which  I  form  always  represents  some 
improvement  in  myself.  An  ideal  which  did 
not  promise  to  better  me  in  some  way  would 
be  no  ideal  at  all.  It  would  be  quite  inoper- 
ative. I  never  rise  from  my  chair  except  with 


I 


SELF-DIRECTION  97 

the  hope  of  being  better  off.  Without  this, 
I  should  sit  forever.  But  I  feel  uneasiness  in 
my  present  position,  and  conceive  the  pos- 
sibility of  not  being  constrained ;  or  I  think 
of  some  needful  work  which  remains  unex- 
ecuted as  long  as  I  sit  here,  and  that  work 
undone  I  perceive  will  leave  my  life  less  satis- 
factory than  it  might  be.  And  this  imagined 
betterment  must  always  be  in  some  sense  my 
own.  If  it  is  a  picture  of  the  gains  of  some 
one  else  quite  unconnected  with  myself,  it  will 
not  start  my  action. 

But  it  will  be  objected  that  we  do  often 
act  unselfishly  and  in  behalf  of  other  persons. 
Indeed  we  do.  Perhaps  our  impulses  are 
more  largely  derived  from  others  than  from 
ourselves,  yet  from  desire  our  own  share  is 
never  quite  eliminated.  I  give  to  the  poor, 
But  it  is  because  I  hate  poverty ;  or  because 
I  am  attracted  by  the  face,  the  story,  or  the 
supposed  character  of  him  who  receives ;  or 
because  I  am  unable  to  separate  my  interests 
from  those  of  humanity  everywhere.  Jn^somei 
subtle  form  the  I-element  enters.  Leave  it 
out,  and  the  action  would  lose  its  value  and 
become  mechanical.  What  I  did  would  be  no 
expression  of  self-conscious  me.  And  such 


98  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

undoubtedly  is  the  case  with  much  of  our 
conduct.  The  reflex  actions,  described  hi  the 
last  chapter,  and  many  of  our  habits  too,  con- 
tain no  precise  reference  to  our  self.  Intelli- 
gent, purposeful,  moral  conduct,  however,  is 
everywhere  shaped  by  the  hope  of  improving 
the  condition  of  him  who  acts.  We  do  not 
act  till  we  find  something  within  or  about  us 
unsatisfactory.  If  contemplating  myself  in 
my  actual  conditions  I  could  pronounce  them 
all  good,  creation  would  for  me  be  at  an  end. 
To  start  it,  some  sense  of  need  is  required. 
Accordingly  I  have  named  desire  as  the  sec- 
ond stage  in  the  formation  of  a  purpose,  for 
desire  is  precisely  this  sense  of  disparity  be- 
tween our  actual  self  and  that  possible  bet- 
tered self  depicted  in  the  ideal. 

Popular  speech,  however,  does  not  here  state 
the  matter  quite  fully.  We  often  talk  as  if  our 
desires  were  for  other  things  than  ourselves. 
We  say,  for  example,  "  I  want  a  glass  of 
water."  In  reality  it  is  not  the  water  I  want. 
That  is  but  a  fragment  of  my  desire.  It  is 
water  plus  self.  Only  so  is  the  desire  fully 
uttered.  Beholding  my  present  self,  my 
thirsty  and  defective  self,  I  perceive  a  side 
of  myself  requiring  to  be  bettered.  Accord- 


SELF-DIRECTION  99 

ingly,  among  imagined  pictures  of  possible 
futures  I  identify  myself  with  that  one  which 
represents  me  supplied  with  water.  But  it  isi 
not  water  that  is  the  object  of  my  desire,  it  ia 
myself  as  bettered  by  water.  Since,  however, 
this  betterment  of  self  is  a  constant  factor  of 
all  desire,  we  do  not  ordinarily  name  it.  We 
say,  "  I  desire  wealth,  I  desire  the  success  of 
my  friend,  or  the  freedom  of  my  country," 
omitting  the  important  and  never  absent  por- 
tion of  the  desire,  the  betterment  of  self. 

Of  course  a  stage  in  the  formation  of  the 
purpose  so  important  as  desire  receives  a 
multitude  of  names.  Perhaps  the  simplest  is 
appetite.  In  appetite  I  do  not  know  what  I 
want.  I  am  blindly  impelled  in  a  certain 
direction.  I  do  not  perceive  that  I  have  a 
suffering  self,  nor  know  that  this  particular 
suffering  would  be  bettered  by  that  particular 
supply.  Appetite  is  a  mere  instinct.  In  the 
mechanic  structure  of  my  being  it  is  planned 
that  without  comprehension  of  the  want  I 
shall  be  impelled  to  the  source  of  supply.  But 
when  appetite  is  permeated  with  a  conscious- 
ness of  what  is  lacking,  I  apprehend  it  as  a 
need.  Through  needs  we  become  persons. 
The  capacity  for  dissatisfaction  is  the  sublime 


100  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

thing  in  man.  We  can  know  our  poor  estate. 
We  can  say,  That  which  I  am  I  would  not  be. 
Passing  the  blind  point  of  appetite,  we  come 
into  the  region  of  want  or  need ;  if  we  then 
can  discern  what  is  requisite  to  supply  this 
need,  we  may  be  said  to  have  a  desire.  That 
desire,  if  specific  and  urgent,  we  call  a  wish. 
All  these  varieties  of  desire  include  the 
same  two  factors :  on  the  one  hand  a  recog- 
nition of  present  defect  in  ourselves,  on  the 
other  imagination  of  possible  bettered  condi- 
tions. Diminish  either,  and  personal  power 
is  narrowed.  The  richer  a  man's  imagination, 
and  the  more  abundant  his  pictures  of  possi- 
ble futures,  the  more  resourceful  he  becomes. 
Pondering  on  desire  as  rooted  in  the  sense 
of  defect,  we  may  feel  less  regret  that  our 
age  is  one  not  easily  satisfied.  Never  were 
there  so  many  discontents,  because  there  were 
never  so  many  aspirations.  It  is  true  therd 
may  be  a  devilish  discontent  or  a  divine  one.) 
There  is  a  discontent  without  definite  aims, 
one  which  merely  rejects  what  is  now  pos- 
sessed; and  there  is  one  which  seeks  what  is 
wisely  attainable.  Yet  after  ah1,  it  is  a  small 
price  to  pay  for  aspiration  that  it  is  often  at- 
tended by  vagueness  and  unwisdom. 


SELF-DIRECTION  101 


But  before  the  formation  of  the  purpose  is 
complete  it  must  pass  through  a  third  stage, 
the  stage  of  decision.  Ideals  and  desires  are 
not  enough,  or  rather  they  are  too  many ;  for 
there  may  be  a  multitude  of  them.  Certain 
ideals  are  desired  for  supplying  certain  of  my 
wants,  others  for  supplying  others.  But  on 
examination  these  many  desirable  ideals  will 
often  prove  conflicting;  all  cannot  be  attained, 
or  at  least  not  all  at  once.  Among  them  I 
must  pick  and  choose,  reducing  and  ordering 
their  number.  This  process  is  decision.  Start- 
ing with  my  ambiguous  future,  imagination 
brings  multifold  possibilities  of  good  before 
me.  But  before  these  can  be  allowed  to  issue 
miscellaneously  into  action,  comparison  and 
selection  reduce  them  to  a  single  best.  I  ac- 
cordingly assess  the  many  desirable  but  com- 
peting ideals  and  see  which  of  them  will  on 
the  whole  most  harmoniously  supplement  my 
imperfections.  On  that  I  fasten,  and  the  in- 
tention is  complete. 

All  this  is  obvious.  But  one  part  of  the 
process,  and  perhaps  the  most  important  part, 
is  apt  to  receive  less  attention  than  it  deserves. 


102  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

In  decision  we  easily  become  engrossed  with 
the  single  selected  ideal,  and  do  not  so  fully 
perceive  that  our  choice  implies  a  rejection 
of  all  else.  Yet  this  it  is  —  this  cutting  off 
—  which  rightly  gives  a  name  to  the  whole 
operation.  The  best  is  arrived  at  only  by  a 
process  of  exclusion  in  which  we  successively 
cut  off  such  ideals  as  do  not  tend  to  the 
largest  supply  of  our  contemplated  defects. 
Walking  by  the  candy-shop,  and  seeing  the 
tempting  chocolates,  I  feel  a  strong  desire  for 
them.  My  mouth  waters.  I  hurry  into  the 
shop  and  deposit  my  five-cent  piece.  In  the 
evening  I  find  that  by  spending  five  cents  for 
the  chocolates  I  am  cut  off  from  obtaining 
my  newspaper,  a  loss  unconsidered  at  the 
time.  But  to  decide  for  anything  is  to  decide 
against  a  multitude  of  other  things.  Taking 
is  still  more  largely  leaving.  The  full  exteni 
of  this  negative  decision  often  escapes  oui 
notice,  and  through  the  very  fact  of  choosing 
a  good  we  blindly  neglect  a  best. 

VI 

Here,  then,  are  the  three  steps  in  the  forma- 
tion of  the  purpose,  —  the  ideal,  thajiejsire, 
and  the  jdecision,  —  each  earlier  one  preparing 


SELF-DIRECTION  103 

the  way  for  that  which  is  to  follow.  But  an 
intention  is  altogether  useless  if  it  pauses  here. 
It  was  formed  to  be  sent  forth,  to  be  entrusted 
to  forces  stretching  beyond  the  intending 
mind.  The  laws  of  nature  are  to  take  it  in 
charge.  The  Germans  have  a  good  proverb  : 
"  A  stone  once  thrown  belongs  to  the  devil." 
When  once  it  parts  from  our  hands,  it  is  no 
longer  ours.  It  is  taken  up,  for  evil  or  for 
good,  by  agencies  other  than  our  own.  If  we 
mistake  the  agency  to  which  we  intrust  it, 
enormous  mischief  may  ensue,  and  we  shall  be 
helpless.  These  agencies,  accordingly,  need 
careful  scrutiny  before  being  called  on  to  work 
their  will.  The  business  of  scrutinizing  them 
and  of  turning  over  the  purpose  to  their  keep- 
ing, forms  the  second  half  (B)  of  self-direc- 
tion. In  contrast  with  (A),  the  formation  of 
the  purpose  or  the  intention,  this  may  be 
called  the  realization  of  the  purpose,  or  voli- 
tion. Volition,  it  is  true,  is  often  employed 
more  comprehensively,  but  we  shall  do  the 
term  no  violence  if  we  confine  its  meaning  to 
the  discharge  of  our  subjective  purpose  into 
the  objective  world.  Volition  then  will  also, 
under  our  scheme,  have  three  subordinate 
stages. 


104  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 


VII 

The  first  of  them  I  will  call  delibg^ation,  in 
order  to  approximate  it  as  closely  as  possible 
to  the  preceding  decision.  Having  now  my 
purpose  decisively  formed,  I  have  to  ask  my- 
self what  physical  means  will  best  carry  it  out. 
I  summon  before  my  mind  as  complete  a  list 
as  possible  of  nature's  conveyances,  and  judge 
which  of  them  will  with  the  greatest  efficiency 
and  economy  execute  my  intention.  Here  I 
am  at  a  friend's  house,  but  I  have  decided  to 
go  to  my  own.  I  must  compare,  then,  the 
different  modes  of  getting  there,  so  as  to  pick 
out  just  that  one  which  involves  the  least  ex- 
penditure and  the  most  certain  result.  One 
way  occurs  to  me  which  I  have  never  tried 
before,  a  swift  and  interesting  way.  I  might 
go  by  balloon.  In  that  balloon  I  could  sail  at 
my  ease  over  the  tops  of  the  houses  and  across 
the  beautiful  river.  When  the  tower  of  Me- 
morial Hall  comes  in  sight,  I  could  pull  a  cord 
and  drop  gently  down  at  my  own  door,  hav- 
ing meanwhile  had  the  seclusion  and  exalta- 
tion of  an  unusual  ride.  What  a  delightful 
experience  !  But  there  is  one  disadvantage. 
Balloons  are  not  always  at  hand.  I  might  be 


SELF-DIRECTION  105 

obliged  to  wait  here  for  hours,  for  days,  before 
getting  one.  I  dismiss  the  thought  of  a  bal- 
loon. It  does  not  altogether  suit  my  purpose. 

Or,  I  might  call  a  carriage.  So  I  should 
secure  solitude  and  a  certain  speed,  but  should 
pay  for  these  with  noise,  jolting,  and  more 
money  than  I  can  well  spare.  There  would 
be  waiting,  too,  before  the  carriage  comes. 
Perhaps  I  had  better  ask  my  friend  to  lend 
me  his  arm  and  to  escort  me  home.  In  this 
there  would  be  dignity  and  a  saving  of  my 
strength.  We  could  talk  by  the  way,  and  I 
always  find  him  interesting.  But  should  I  be 
willing  to  be  so  much  beholden  to  him,  and 
would  not  the  wind  to-day  make  our  walk  and 
talk  difficult?  Better  postpone  till  summer 
weather.  And  after  all  there  is  Boston's  most 
common  mode  of  locomotion  right  at  hand, 
the  electric  car.  Strange  it  was  not  thought 
of  before !  The  five-cent  piece  saved  from 
the  chocolates  will  carry  me,  swiftly,  safely, 
and  with  independence. 

It  is  in  this  way  that  we  go  through  the 
process  of  deliberation.  All  the  possible 
means  of  effecting  our  purpose  are  summoned 
for  judgment.  The  feasibility  of  each  is  ex- 
amined, and  the  cost  involved  in  its  employ- 


106  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

merit.  Comparison  is  made  between  the  ad- 
vantages offered  by  different  agencies;  and 
oftentimes  at  the  close  we  are  in  a  sad  puzzle, 
finding  these  advantages  and  disadvantages 
so  nearly  balanced.  One,  however,  is  finally 
judged  superior  in  fitness.  To  this  we  tie  our- 
selves, making  it  the  channel  for  our  out-go. 
The  whole  process,  then,  in  its  detailed  com- 
parison and  final  fixation,  is  identical  with  that 
to  which  I  have  given  the  name  of  decision, 
except  that  the  comparisons  of  decision  refer 
to  inner  facts,  those  of  deliberation  to  outer. 

VIII 

We  now  reach  the  climax  of  the  whole  pro- 
cess, efforj;,  the  actual  sending  forth  through 
the  deliberately  chosen  channel  of  the  ideal 
desired  and  decided  on.  To  it  all  the  rest 
is  merely  preliminary,  and  in  it  the  final  move 
is  made  which  commits  us  to  the  deed.  About 
it,  therefore,  we  may  well  desire  the  completest 
information.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  have  none 
to  give,  and  nobody  else  has.  The  nature  of  the 
operation  is  substantially  unknown.  Though 
something  which  we  have  been  performing  all 
day  long,  we  and  all  our  ancestors,  no  one 
of  us  has  succeeded  in  getting  a  good  sight 


SELF-DIRECTION  107 

of  what  actually  takes  place.  Our  purposes 
are  prepared  as  I  have  described,  and  then 
those  purposes — something  altogether  mental 
—  change  on  a  sudden  to  material  motions. 
How  is  the  transmutation  accomplished?  How 
do  we  pass  from  a  mental  picture  to  a  set  of 
motions  in  the  physical  world  ?  What  is  the 
bridge  connecting  the  two?  The  bridge  is 
always  down  when  we  direct  our  gaze  upon 
it,  though  firm  when  any  act  would  cross. 

Nor  can  we  trace  our  passage  any  more 
easily  in  the  opposite  direction.  When  my 
eyes  are  turned  on  my  watch,  for  example, 
the  vibrations  of  light  striking  its  face  are  re- 
flected on  the  pupil  of  my  eye.  There  the  little 
motions,  previously  existing  only  in  the  sur- 
rounding ether,  are  communicated  to  my  optic 
nerve.  This  vibrates  too,  and  by  its  motion 
excites  the  matter  of  my  brain,  and  then  — 
well,  I  have  a  sensation  of  the  white  face  of 
my  watch.  But  what  was  contained  in  that 
then  is  precisely  what  we  do  not  understand. 
Incoming  motions  may  be  transmuted  into 
thought;  or,  as  in  effort,  outgoing  thought 
may  be  transmuted  into  motion.  But  alike  in 
both  cases,  on  the  nature  of  that  transmuta- 
tion, the  very  thing  we  most  desire  to  know, 


108  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

we  get  no  light.  In  regard  to  this  crucial 
point  no  one,  materialist  or  idealist,  can  offer 
a  suggestion.  We  may  of  course,  in  fault  of 
explanation,  restate  the  facts  in  clumsy  circum- 
locution. Calling  thought  a  kind  of  motion, 
we  may  say  that  in  action  it  propagates  itself 
from  the  mind  through  the  brain  into  the 
outer  world ;  while  in  the  apprehension  of  an 
idea  motions  of  the  outer  world  pass  into  the 
brain,  and  there  set  up  those  motions  which 
we  know  as  thought.  But  after  such  explana- 
tions the  mystery  remains  exactly  where  it 
was  before.  How  does  a  "  mental  motion  " 
come  out  of  a  bodily  motion,  or  a  bodily  from 
a  mental  ?  It  is  wiser  to  acknowledge  a  mys- 
tery and  to  mark  the  spot  where  it  occurs. 

This  marking  of  the  spot  may,  however, 
illuminate  the  surrounding  territory.  If  we 
cannot  explain  the  nature  of  the  crucial  act, 
it  may  still  be  well  to  study  its  range.  How 
widely  is  effort  exercised  ?  We  should  natu- 
rally answer,  as  widely  as  the  habitable  globe. 
I  can  sit  in  my  office  in  Boston  and  carry 
on  business  in  China.  When  I  touch  a  but- 
ton, great  ships  are  loaded  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  earth  and  cross  the  intervening 
oceans  to  work  the  bidding  of  a  person  they 


SELF-DIRECTION  109 

have  never  seen.  Perhaps  some  day  we  may 
send  our  volition  beyond  the  globe  and  enter 
into  communication  with  the  inhabitants  of 
Mars.  It  would  seem  idle,  then,  to  talk  about 
the  limitations  of  volition  and  a  restricted 
range  of  will.  But  in  fact  that  will  is  re- 
stricted, and  its  range  is  much  narrower  than 
the  globe.  For  when  we  consider  the  matter 
with  precision,  it  is  not  exactly  I  who  have 
operated  in  China.  I  operate  only  where  I  am. 
In  touching  the  button  my  direct  agency 
ceases.  It  is  true  that  connected  with  that  but- 
ton are  wires  conducting  to  a  wide  variety  of 
consequences.  But  about  the  details  of  that 
conduction  I  need  know  nothing.  The  wire 
will  work  equally  well  whether  I  understand 
or  do  not  understand  electricity.  Its  working 
is  not  mine,  but  its  own.  The  pressure  of  my 
finger  ends  my  act,  which  is  then  taken  up 
and  carried  forward  by  automatic  and  mechan- 
ical adjustments  requiring  neither  supervision 
nor  consciousness  on  my  part.  We  might 
then  more  accurately  say  that  my  direct  voli- 
tion is  circumscribed  by  my  own  body.  My 
finger  tips,  my  lips,  my  nodding  head  are  the 
points  where  I  part  with  full  control,  though 
indefinitely  beyond  these  I  can  forecast  changes 


110  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

which  the  automatic  agencies,  once  set  astir, 
will  induce. 

Am  I  niggardly  in  thus  confining  the  action 
of  each  of  us  within  his  own  body?  Is  the 
range  of  volition  thus  marked  out  too  narrow  ? 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  probably  still  too  wide. 
We  are  as  powerless  to  direct  our  bodies  as 
we  are  to  manage  affairs  in  China.  This,  at 
least,  is  the  modern  psychological  doctrine  of 
effort.  It  is  now  believed  that  volition  is  en- 
tirely a  mental  affair,  and  is  confined  to  the 
single  act  of  attention.  It  is  alleged  that  when 
I  attend  to  an  ideal,  fixing  my  mind  fully  upon 
it,  the  results  are  altogether  similar  to  what 
occurred  on  my  touching  the  button.  Every 
idea  tends  to  pass  automatically  into  action 
through  agencies  about  which  I  know  as  little 
as  I  do  about  ocean  telegraphs.  This  physical 
frame  of  mine  is  a  curious  organic  mechanism, 
in  which  reflex  actions  and  instincts  do  their 
blind  work  at  a  hint  from  me.  I  am  said  to 
raise  my  arm.  But  never  having  been  a  stu- 
dent of  anatomy  and  physiology,  I  have  not 
the  least  idea  how  the  rise  was  effected ;  and 
if  I  am  told  that  nerves  excite  muscles,  and 
these  in  turn  contract  like  cords  and  pull 
the  arm  this  way  or  that,  the  rise  will  not  be 


SELF-DIRECTION  111 

accomplished  a  bit  better  for  the  information. 
For,  as  in  electric  transmission,  it  is  not  I  who 
do  the  work.  My  part  is  attention.  The  rest 
is  adapted  automatism.  When  I  have  driven 
everything  else  out  of  my  mind  except  the 
picture  of  the  rising  arm,  it  rises  of  itself, 
the  after-effects  on  nerves  and  muscles  being 
apprehended  by  me  as  the  sense  of  effort. 

We  cannot,  then,  exercise  our  will  with  a 
wandering  mind.  So  long  as  several  ideas 
are  conflictingly  attended  to,  they  hinder 
each  other.  This  we  verify  in  regrettable  ex- 
periences every  day.  On  waking  this  morn- 
ing, for  example,  I  saw  it  was  time  to  get  up. 
But  the  bed  was  comfortable,  and  there  were 
interesting  matters  to  think  of.  I  meant  to 
get  up,  for  breakfast  was  waiting,  and  there 
was  that  new  book  to  be  examined,  and  that 
letter  to  be  written.  How  long  would  this 
require,  and  how  should  the  letter  be  planned  ? 
But  I  must  get  up.  Possibly  those  callers 
may  come.  And  shall  I  want  to  see  them  ? 
It  is  really  time  to  get  up.  What  a  curi- 
ous figure  the  pattern  of  the  paper  makes, 
viewed  in  this  light !  The  breakfast  bell ! 
Out  of  my  head  go  all  vagrant  reflections,  and 
suddenly,  before  I  can  notice  the  process,  I 


112  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

find  myself  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  That 
is  the  way.  From  wavering  thoughts  nothing 
comes.  But  suddenly  some  sound,  some  sight, 
some  significant  interest,  raises  the  depicted 
act  into  exclusive  vividness  of  attention,  and 
our  part  is  done.  The  spring  has  been  touched, 
and  the  physical  machinery,  of  which  we 
may  know  little  or  nothing,  does  its  work. 
There  it  stands  ready,  the  automatic  machin- 
ery of  this  exquisite  frame  of  ours,  waiting  for 
the  unconf  used  signal,  —  our  only  part  in  the 
performance,  —  then  automatically  it  springs 
to  action  and  pushes  our  purpose  into  the 
outer  world.  Such  at  least  is  the  fashion- 
able teaching  of  psychologists  to-day.  Voli- 
tion is  full  attention.  It  has  no  wider  scope. 
With  bodily  adjustments  it  does  not  meddle. 
These  move  by  their  own  mechanic  law.  Of 
real  connection  between  body  and  mind  we 
know  nothing.  We  can  only  say  that  such 
parallelism  exists  that  physical  action  occurs  on 
occasion  of  complete  mental  vision. 

No  doubt  this  theory  leaves  much  to  be 
desired  in  the  way  of  clearness.  What  is 
meant  by  fixing  the  attention  exclusively  ? 
Is  unrelated  singleness  possible  among  our 
mental  pictures  ?  Or  how  narrowly  must  the 


SELF-DIEECTION  113 

field  of  attention  be  occupied  before  these 
strange  springs  are  set  in  motion?  At  the 
end  of  the  explanation  do  not  most  of  the 
puzzling  problems  of  scope,  freedom,  and  se- 
lection remain,  existing  now  as  problems  about 
the  nature  and  working  of  attention  instead 
of,  as  formerly,  problems  about  the  emergence 
of  the  intention  into  outward  nature?  No 
doubt  these  classical  problems  puzzle  us  still. 
But  a  genuine  advance  toward  clarity  is  made 
when  we  confine  them  within  a  small  area  by 
identifying  volition  with  mental  attention. 
Nor  will  it  be  anything  to  the  point  to  say, 
"  But  I  know  myself  as  a  physical  creature 
to  be  involved  in  effort.  The  strain  of  voli- 
tion is  felt  in  my  head,  in  my  arm,  through- 
out my  entire  body."  Nobody  denies  it. 
After  we  have  attended,  and  the  machinery  is 
set  in  motion,  we  feel  its  results.  The  physi- 
cal changes  involved  in  action  are  as  appre- 
hensible in  our  experience  as  are  any  other 
natural  facts,  and  are  remembered  and  antici- 
pated in  each  new  act. 

IX 

Only  one  stage  more  remains,  and  that  is 
an  invariable  one,  the  stage  of  satisfaction. 


114  THE  NATUEE  OF  GOODNESS 

It  is  fortunately  provided  that  pleasure  shall 
attend  every  act.  Pleasure  probably  is  no- 
thing else  but  the  sense  that  some  one  of  our 
functions  has  been  appropriately  exercised, 
Every  time,  then,  that  an  intention  has  been 
taken  up  in  the  way  just  described,  carried 
forth  into  the  complex  world,  and  there  con- 
ducted to  its  mark,  a  gratified  feeling  arises. 
"  Yes,  I  have  accomplished  it.  That  is  good. 
I  felt  a  defect,  I  desired  to  remove  it,  and 
betterment  is  here."  We  cannot  speak  a 
word,  or  raise  a  hand,  perhaps  even  draw  a 
breath,  without  something  of  this  glad  sense 
of  life.  It  may  be  intense,  it  may  be  slight 
or  middling ;  but  in  some  degree  it  is  always 
there.  For  through  action  we  realize  ou? 
powers.  This  seemingly  fixed  world  is  found 
to  be  plastic  in  our  hands.  We  modify  it. 
We  direct  something,  mean  something.  No 
longer  idle  drifters  on  the  tide,  through  our 
desires  we  bring  that  tide  our  way.  And  in 
the  sense  of  self-directed  power  we  find  a 
satisfaction,  great  or  small  according  to  the 
magnitude  of  our  undertaking. 

In  such  a  catalogue  of  the  elements  of  ac- 
tion as  has  just  been  given  there  is  something 
uncanny.  Can  we  not  pick  up  a  pin  without 


SELF-DIRECTION  115 

going  through  all  six  stages  ?  Should  we  ever 
do  anything,  if  to  do  even  the  simplest  we 
were  obliged  to  do  six  things  ?  Have  I  not 
made  matters  needlessly  elaborate?  No,  I 
have  not  unduly  elaborated.  We  are  made 
just  so  complex.  Yet  as  a  good  teacher  I 
have  falsified.  For  the  sake  of  clearness  I 
have  been  treating  separately  matters  which 
go  together.  There  are  not  six  operations, 
there  is  but  one.  In  this  one  there  are  six 
stages ;  that  is,  there  are  six  points  of  view 
from  which  the  single  operation  may  advanta- 
geously be  surveyed.  But  these  do  not  exist 
apart.  They  are  all  intimately  blended,  each 
affecting  all  the  rest.  Because  of  our  dull 
faculties  we  cannot  understand,  though  we 
can  work,  them  en  bloc.  He  who  would 
render  them  comprehensible  must  commit  the 
violence  of  plucking  them  asunder,  holding 
them  up  detachedly,  and  saying,  "  Of  such 
diverse  stuff  is  our  active  life  composed." 
But  in  reality  each  gets  its  meaning  through 
connection  with  all  the  others.  Life  need  not 
terrify  because  for  purposes  of  verification  it 
must  be  represented  as  so  intricate  an  affair. 
It  is  I  who  have  broken  up  its  simplicity,  and 
it  belongs  to  my  reader  to  put  it  together 
again. 


REFERENCES    ON    SELF-DIRECTION 

James's  Psychology,  ch.  xxvi. 

Sigwart's  Der  Begriffi  des  Wollen's,  iu  his  Kleine  Schriften. 

A.  Alexander's  Theories  of  the  Will. 

Miinsterberg's  Die  Willenshandlung. 

Holding's  Psychology,  ch.  vii. 


V 

SELF-DEVELOPMENT 


H 


. 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT 


X 

CONCEIVABLY  a  being  such  as  has  been 
described  might  advance  no  farther.  Con- 
scious he  might  be,  observant  of  everything 
going  on  within  him  and  without ;  occupied 
too  with  inducing  the  very  changes  he  ob- 
serves, and  yet  with  no  aim  to  enlarge  him- 
self or  improve  the  world  through  any  of  the 
changes  so  induced.  Complete  within  himself 
at  the  beginning,  he  might  be  equally  so  at 
the  close,  his  activity  being  undertaken  for 
the  mere  sake  of  action,  and  not  for  any  bene- 
ficial results  following  in  its  train.  Still,  even 
such  a  being  would  be  better  off  while  acting 
than  if  quiet,  and  by  his  readiness  to  act 
would  show  that  he  felt  the  need  of  at  least 
temporary  betterment.  In  actual  cases  the 
need  goes  deeper. 

A  being  capable  of  self-direction  ordinarily 


120  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

has  capacities  imperfectly  realized.  Changing 
other  things,  he  also  changes  himself ;  and  it 
becomes  a  part  of  his  aim  in  action  to  make 
these  changes  advantageous,  and  each  act 
helpfully  reactive.  Accordingly  the  aim  at 
self -development  regularly  attends  self -direc- 
tion. I  could  not,  therefore,  properly  discuss 
my  last  topic  without  in  some  measure  an- 
ticipating this.  Every  ideal  of  action,  I  was 
obliged  to  say,  includes  within  it  an  aim  at 
some  sort  of  betterment  of  the  actor.  Our 
business,  then,  in  the  present  chapter  is  not 
to  announce  a  new  theme,  but  simply  to  ren- 
der explicit  what  before  was  implied.  Wei 
must  detach  from  action  the  influence  which 
it  throws  back  upon  us,  the  actors.  We  must  I 
make  this  influence  plain,  exhibit  its  method, 
and  show  wherein  it  differs  from  other  pro- 
cesses in  some  respects  similar. 

n 

The  most  obvious  fact  about  self-develop- 
ment is  that  it  is  a  species  of  change,  and  that 
change  is  associated  with  sadness.  Heraclitus, 
the  weeping  philosopher  of  the  Greeks,  dis- 
covered this  fact  five  hundred  years  before 
Christ.  "Nothing  abides,"  he  said,  "all  is 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  121 

fleeting."  We  stand  in  a  moving  tide,  unable 
to  bathe  twice  in  the  same  stream  ;  before  we 
can  stoop  a  second  time  the  flood  is  gone. 
In  every  age  this  is  the  common  theme  of 
lamentation  for  poet,  moralist,  common  man 
and  woman.  All  other  causes  of  sadness  are 
secondary  to  it.  As  soon  as  we  have  compre- 
hended anything,  have  fitted  it  to  our  lives 
and  learned  to  love  it,  it  is  gone. 

Such  is  the  aspect  which  gVia.pgft  ordinarily 
presents.  |t  is  tied  up  with  grief .  We  regard 
what  is  precious  as  stable ;  and  yet  we  are 
obliged  to  confess  that  nothing  on  earth  is 
stable  —  nothing  among  physical  things,  and 
just  as  little  among  mental  and  spiritual  things. 
But  there  are  many  kinds  of  change.  We  are 
apt  to  confuse  them  with  one  another,  and  in  so 
doing  to  carry  over  to  the  nobler  sorts  thoughts 
applicable  only  to  the  lower.  In  beginning, 
then,  the  discussion  of  self-development,  I 
think  it  will  conduce  to  clearness  if  I  offer  a 
conspectus  of  all  imaginable  changes.  I  will 
set  them  in  groups  and  show  their  different 
kinds,  exhibiting  first  those  which  are  most 
elementary,  then  those  more  complex,  and 
finally  those  so  dark  and  important  that  they 
pass  over  into  a  region  of  mystery  and  para- 
dox. 


Ill 

Probably  all  will  agree  that  the  simplest 
possible  change  is  the  accidental  sort,  that 
where  only  relations  of  space  are  altered.  My 
watch,  now  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  desk, 
is  shifted  to  the  right  side,  is  laid  in  its  case, 
or  is  lost  in  the  street.  I  call  these  changes 
accidental,  because  they  in  no  way  affect  the 
nature  of  the  watch.  They  are  not  really 
changes  in  it,  but  in  its  surroundings.  The 
watch  still  remains  what  it  was  before.  To 
the  same  group  we  might  refer  a  large  number 
of  other  changes  where  no  inner  alteration  is 
wrought.  The  watch  is  now  in  a  brilliant 
light ;  I  lay  my  hand  on  it,  and  it  is  in  dark- 
ness. Its  place  has  not  been  changed,  but 
that  of  the  light  has  been.  Many  of  the  com- 
monest changes  in  life  are  of  this  sort.  Uhej 
are  accidental  ™  AY^nftnnn  ghangftg-  In  I  * 
them,  through  all  its  change,  the  thing  abides. 
There  is  no  necessary  alteration  of  its  nature. 

IV 

But  unhappily  this  is  not  the  only  species 
of  change.  It  is  not  that  which  has  brought 
a  wail  from  the  ages,  when  men  have  seen 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  123 

what  they  prize  slip  away.  The  commoni  _ 
root  of  sorrow  has  been  destructive  change.]  ^ 
Holding  the  watch  in  my  hand,  I  may  drop  it 
on  the  floor;  and  at  once  the  crystal,  which 
has  been  so  transparently  protective,  is  gone. 
If  the  floor  is  of  stone,  the  back  of  the  watch 
may  be  wrenched  away,  the  wheels  of  its  deli- 
cate machinery  jarred  asunder.  Destruction 
has  come  upon  it,  and  not  merely  an  extra- 
neous accident.  In  consequence  of  altered 
surroundings,  dissolution  is  wrought  within. 
Change  of  a  lamentable  sort  has  come.  What 
before  was  a  beautiful  whole,  organically  con- 
stituted in  the  way  described  in  my  first  two 
chapters,  has  been  torn  asunder.  What  we 
formerly  beheld  with  delight  has  disappeared. 
And  let  us  not  accept  false  comfort.  We 
often  hear  it  said  that,  after  all,  destruction  is 
an  illusion.  There  is  no  such  thing.  What 
is  once  in  the  world  is  here  forever.  No  par- 
ticle of  the  watch  can  by  any  possibility  be 
lost.  And  what  is  true  of  the  watch  is  true 
of  things  far  higher,  of  persons  even.  When 
persons  decay  and  die,  may  not  their  destruc- 
tion be  only  in  outward  seeming  ?  We  cannot 
imagine  absolute  cessation.  As  well  imagine  an 
absolute  beginning.  There  is  no  loss.  Every- 


124  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

thing  abides.  Only  to  our  apprehension  do  de- 
structive changes  occur.  We  are  all  familiar 
with  consolation  of  this  sort,  and  how  in- 
wardly unsatisfactory  it  is !  For  while  it  is 
true  that  no  particle  of  the  watch  is  destroyed, 
it  is  precisely  those  particles  which  were  in  our 
minds  of  little  consequence.  Almost  equally 
well  they  might  have  been  of  gold,  silver,  or 
steel.  The  precious  part  of  the  watch  was  the 
organization  of  its  particles,  and  that  is  gone. 
The  face  and  form  of  my  friend  can  indeed 
be  blotted  out  in  no  single  item.  But  I  care 
nothing  for  its  material  items.  The  totality 
may  be  wrecked,  and  it  is  that  totality  to  which 
my  affections  cling.  And  so  it  is  in  the  world 
around  —  maj;erial.remains,  organic  wholeness 

^  ^^""^^^^^.          ^™«B^3i  "" 

goes.  It  is  almost  a  sarcasm  of  nature  that 
she  counts  our  precious  things  so  cheap,  while 
the  bricks  and  mortar  of  which  these  are 
made  —  matters  on  which  no  human  affection 
can  fasten — she  holds  for  everlasting.  The 
lamentations  of  the  ages,  then,  have  not  erred. 
Something  tragic  is  involved  in  the  framework 
of  the  universe.  In  order  to  abide,  divulsion 
must  occur.  Destruction  of  organism  is  going 
on  all  around  us,  and  ever  will  go  on.  Things 
must  unceasingly  be  torn  apart.  One  ..mjght 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  125 

tcall  this  destructive  and  lamentable  change 
\;he  only  steadfast  feature  of  the  world. 


Yet  after  all,  and  often  in  this  very  process 
of  divulsion,  we  catch  glimpses  of  a  nobler 
sort  of  change.  For  there  is  a  third  species 
to  which  I  might  perhaps  give  the  name  of 
transforming  change.  When,  for  example,  a 
certain  portion  of  oxygen  and  a  certain  portion 
of  hydrogen,  each  having  its  own  distinctive 
qualities,  are  brought  into  contact  with  one 
another,  they  utterly  change.  The  qualities 
of  both  disappear,  and  a  new  set  of  qualities 
takes  their  place.  The  old  ones  are  gone,  — 
gone,  but  not  lost ;  for  they  have  been  trans- 
formed into  new  ones  of  a  predetermined  and 
constant  kind.  Only  a  single  sort  of  change 
is  open  to  these  elements  when  in  each  other's 
presence,  and  in  precisely  that  way  they  will 
always  change.  In  so  changing  they  do  not, 
it  is  true,  fully  keep  their  past ;  but  a  fixed 
relation  to  it  they  do  keep,  and  under  certain 
conditions  may  return  to  it  again.  The  trans- 
forming changes  of  chemistry,  then,  are  of  a 
different  nature  from  those  of  the  mechanic 
destruction  just  described.  In  those  the 


126  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

ruined  organism  leaves  not  a  wrack  behind. 
In  chemic  change  something  definite  is  held, 
something  that  originally  was  planned  and 
can  be  prophesied.  An  end  is  attained :  the 
fixed  combination  of  just  so  much  oxygen  with 
just  so  much  hydrogen  for  the  making  of  the 
new  substance,  water.  Here  change  is  pro- 
ductive, and  is  not  mere  waste,  as  in  organic 
destruction.  Something,  however,  is  lost  — 
the  old  qualities  ;  for  these  cannot  be  restored 
except  through  the  disruption  of  the  new  sub- 
stance, the  water  in  which  they  are  combined. 

VI 

But  there  is  a  more  peculiar  change  of  a 
higher  order  still,  that  which  we  speak  of  as 
development,  evolution,  growth.  This  sort 
of  change  might  be  described  as  movement 
toward  a  mark.  When  the  seed  begins  to  be 
transformed  in  the  earth,  it  is  adapted  not 
merely  to  the  next  stage  ;  but  that  stage  has 
reference  to  one  farther  on,  and  that  to  still 
others.  It  would  hardly  be  a  metaphor  to 
declare  that  the  whole  elm  is  already  prophe- 
sied when  its  seed  is  laid  in  the  earth.  For 
though  the  entire  tree  is  not  there,  though  in 
order  that  the  seed  may  become  an  elm  it 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  127 

must  have  a  helpful  environment,  still  a  cer- 
tain plan  of  movement  elmwards  is,  we  may 
say,  already  schemed  in  the  seed.  Here  ac- 
cordingly, change  —  far  from  being  a  loss  — 
is  a  continual  increment  and  revelation.  And 
since  the  later  stages  successively  disclose  the 
meaning  of  those  which  went  before,  these 
later  stages  might  with  accuracy  be  styled  the 
truth  of  their  predecessors,  and  those  be  ac- 
counted in  comparison  trivial  and  meaningless 
until  thus  changed.  This  sort  of  change  car- 
ries its  past  along  with  it.  In  the  destructive 
changes  which  we  were  lamenting  a  moment 
ago,  the  past  was  lost  and  the  new  began  as  an 
independent  affair.  Even  in  chemic  change 
this  was  true  to  a  certain  extent.  Yet  there, 
though  the  past  was  lost,  a  future  was  prophe- 
sied. In  the  case  of  development  the  future, 
so  far  from  annihilating  the  past,  is  its  exhibi- 
tion on  a  larger  scale.  The  full  significance 
of  any  single  stage  is  not  manifest  until  the 
final  one  is  reached. 

I  suppose  when  we  arrive  at  this  thought 
of  change  as  expressing  development,  our  lam- 
entation may  well  turn  to  rejoicing.  Possibly 
this  may  be  the  reason  why  the  gloom  which 
is  a  noticeable  feature  of  the  thought  of  many 


128  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

preceding  centuries  has  in  our  time  somewhat 
disappeared.  While  our  ambitions  are  gener- 
ally wider,  and  we  might  seem,  therefore,  more 
exposed  to  disappointment,  I  think  the  last 
half  of  the  century  which  has  closed  has  been 
a  time  of  large  hopefulness.  Perhaps  it  has 
not  yet  gone  so  far  as  rejoicing,  for  failure 
and  sorrow  are  still  by  no  means  extirpated. 
But  at  least  the  thoughts  of  our  day  have 
become  turned  rather  to  the  future  than  the 
past,  a  result  which  has  attended  the  wider 
comprehension  of  development.  To  call  de- 
velopment the  discovery  of  our  century  would, 
however,  be  absurd.  Aristotle  bases  his  whole 
philosophy  upon  it,  and  it  was  already  vener- 
able in  his  time.  Yet  the  many  writers  who 
have  expounded  the  doctrine  during  the  last 
fifty  years  have  brought  the  thought  of  it 
home  to  the  common  man.  It  has  entered 
into  daily  life  as  never  before,  and  has  done 
much  to  protect  us  against  the  sadness  of 
destructive  change.  Perceiving  that  changes, 
apparently  destructive,  repeatedly  bring  to 
light  meaning  previously  undisclosed,  we 
more  willingly  than  our  ancestors  part  with 
the  imperfect  that  a  path  to  the  perfect  may 
be  opened. 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  129 

Is  not  this,  then,  the  great  conception  of 
change  which  we  now  need  to  study  as  self- 
development  ?  I  believe  not.  One  essential 
feature  is  omitted.  In  the  typical  example 
which  I  have  just  reviewed,  the  growth  of  an 
elm  from  its  seed,  we  cannot  say  that  the  seed 
expands  itself  with  a  view  to  becoming  a  tree. 
That  would  be  to  carry  over  into  the  tree's 
existence  notions  borrowed  from  an  alien 
sphere.  Indeed,  to  assert  that  there  has  been 
any  genuine  development  from  the  seed  up  to 
the  finished  tree  is  to  use  terms  in  an  accom- 
modated, metaphoric,  and  hypothetical  way. 
Development  there  certainly  has  been  as  esti- 
mated by  an  outsider,  an  onlooker,  but  not  as 
perceived  by  the  tree  itself.  It  has  not  known 
where  it  was  going.  Out  of  the  unknown 
earth  the  seed  pushes  its  way  into  the  still  less 
known  air.  But  in  doing  so  it  is  devoid  of 
purpose.  Nor,  if  we  endow  it  with  conscious- 
ness, can  we  suppose  it  would  behold  its  end 
and  seek  it.  The  forces  driving  it  toward 
that  end  are  not  conscious  forces;  they  are 
mechanic  forces.  Through  every  stage  it  is 
pushed  from  behind,  not  drawn  from  before. 
There  is  no  causative  goal  set  up,  alluring  the 
seed  onward.  In  speaking  as  if  there  were, 


130  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

we  employ  language  which  can  have  signifi- 
cance only  for  rational  beings.  We  may  hold 
that  there  is  a  rational  plan  of  the  universe 
which  that  seed  is  fulfilling.  But  if  so,  the 
plan  does  not  belong  to  the  seed.  It  is  im- 
posed from  without,  and  the  seed  does  its 
bidding  unawares. 

VII 

But  we  may  imagine  a  different  state  of 
affairs.  Let  us  assume  that  when  the  seed 
sprouted  it  foreknew  the  elm  that  was  to  be. 
Every  time  it  sucked  in  its  slight  moisture  it 
was  gently  adapting  this  nourishment  to  the 
fulfillment  of  its  ultimate  end,  asking  itself 
whether  the  small  material  had  better  be  be- 
stowed on  the  left  bough  or  the  right,  whether 
certain  leaves  should  curve  more  obliquely 
toward  the  sun,  and  whether  it  had  better 
wave  its  branches  and  catch  the  passing  breeze 
or  leave  them  quiet.  If  we  could  rightly  ima- 
gine such  a  state  of  things,  our  tree  would  be 
much  unlike  its  brothers  of  the  forest;  for, 
superintending  its  own  development,  it  would 
be  not  a  thing  at  all  but  a  person.  We  persons 
are  in  this  very  way  entrusted  with  our  growth. 
A  plan  there  is,  a  normal  mode  of  growth,  a 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  131 

significance  to  which  we  may  attain.  But 
that  significance  is  not  imposed  on  us  from 
without,  as  an  inevitable  event,  already  settled 
through  our  past.  On  the  contrary,  we  detect 
it  afar  as  a  possibility,  are  thus  put  in  charge 
of  it,  and  so  become  in  large  degree  our  own 
upbuilders.  Development  is  movement  toward 
a  mark.  In  self -development  the  mark  to  be 
reached  is  in  the  conscious  keeping  of  him 
who  is  to  reach  it.  Toward  it  he  may  more 
or  less  fully  direct  his  course. 

And  what  an  astonishing  state  of  things 
then  appears !  Self-development  involves  a 
kind  of  contradiction  in  terms.  How  can  I 
build  if  at  present  there  is  no  I  ?  Why  should 
I  build  if  at  present  there  is  an  I  ?  Which- 
ever alternative  we  take,  we  fall  into  what 
looks  like  absurdity.  Yet  on  that  absurdity 
personal  life  is  based.  There  is  no  avoiding 
it.  Wordsworth  has  daringly  stated  the  par- 
adox: "So  build  we  up  the  being  that  we 
are."  On  coming  into  the  world  we  are  onlyj 
sketched  out.  Of  each  of  us  there  is  a  ground! 
plan  of  which  we  progressively  become  aware. 
Hidden  from  us  in  our  early  years,  it  resides 
in  the  minds  of  our  parents,  just  as  the  plan 
of  the  tree's  structure  is  in  the  keeping  of  na- 


132  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

ture.  Gradually  through  our  advancing  years 
and  the  care  of  those  around  us  we  catch  sight 
of  what  we  might  be.  Detecting  in  ourselves 
possibilities,  we  make  out  their  relation  to  a 
plan  not  yet  realized.  We  accordingly  take 
ourselves  in  hand  and  say,  "  If  any  personal 
good  is  to  come  to  me,  it  must  be  of  my  mak- 
ing. I  cannot  own  myself  till  I  am  largely 
the  author  of  myself.  From  day  to  day  I 
must  construct,  and  whenever  I  act  study 
bow  the  action  will  affect  my  betterment,  — 
whether  by  performing  it  I  am  likely  to  de- 
grade or  to  consolidate  myself."  And  to  this 
process  there  must  be  no  end. 

Obviously,  nothing  like  this  could  occur  if 
our  actual  condition  were  our  ideal  condition. 
Self-development  is  open  only  to  a  being  in 
whom  there  are  possibilities  as  yet  unfulfilled. 
The  things  around  us  have  their  definite  con- 
stitution. They  can  do  exactly  thus  and  no 
more.  What  shall  be  the  effect  of  any  im- 
pulse falling  on  them  is  already  assured.  If 
the  condition  of  the  brutes  is  anything  like 
that  which  we  disrespectfuUy  attributed  to 
them,  then  they  are  in  the  same  case ;  they 
too  are  shut  up  to  fixed  responses,  and  have 
in  them  no  unfulfilled  capacities.  It  is  the 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  133 

possession  of  such  empty  capacities  which 
makes  us  personal.  Well  has  it  been  said 
that  he  who  can  declare,  "  I  am  that  I  am," 
is  either  God  or  a  brute.  No  human  being 
can  say  it.  To  describe  myself  as  if  I  were 
settled  fact  is  to  make  myself  a  thing.  My 
life  is  in  that  which  may  be.  The  ideals  of 
existence  are  my  realities,  and  "  ought "  is 
my  peculiar  verb.  "Is"  has  no  other  appli- 
cation to  a  person  than  to  mark  how  far  he 
has  advanced  along  his  ideal  line.  Were  he 
to  pause  at  any  point  as  if  complete,  he  would  j 
cease  to  be  a  person. 

VIII 

But  it  is  necessary  to  trace  somewhat  care- 
fully the  method  of  such  self-development. 
How  do  we  proceed?  Before  the  architect 
built  the  State  House,  he  drew  up  a  plan 
of  the  finished  building,  and  there  was  no 
moving  of  stone,  mortar,  or  tool,  till  every- 
thing was  complete  on  paper.  Each  work- 
man who  did  anything  subsequently  did  it 
in  deference  to  that  perfected  design.  Each 
stone  brought  for  the  great  structure  was 
numbered  for  its  place  and  had  its  jointing  cut 
in  adaptation  to  the  remaining  stones.  If, 


134  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

then,  each  one  of  us  is  to  become  an  architect 
of  himself,  it  might  seem  necessary  to  lay  out 
a  plan  of  our  complete  existence  before  setting 
out  in  life,  or  at  whatever  moment  we  become 
aware  that  henceforth  our  construction  is  to 
be  in  our  own  charge.  Only  with  such  a, 
plan  in  hand  would  orderly  building  seem 
possible.  This  is  a  common  belief,  but  in 
my  judgment  an  erroneous  one.  Indeed  the 
whole  analogy  of  the  architect  and  his  me- 
chanisms is  misleading.  We  rarely  have  in 
mind  the  total  plan  of  our  unrealized  being, 
and  rarely  ought  we  to  have.  Our  work  be- 
gins at  a  different  point.  We  do  not,  like 
the  architect,  usually  begin  with  a  thought  of 
completion.  Rather  we  are  first  stirred  by  a 
sense  of  weakness. 

In  my  own  education  I  find  this  to  be 
true.  After  some  years  as  a  boy  in  a  Boston 
public  school,  I  went  to  Phillips  Academy  in 
Andover,  then  to  Harvard  College,  and  sub- 
sequently to  a  German  university,  and  why 
did  I  do  all  this  ?  Did  I  have  in  mind  the 
picture  of  myself  as  a  learned  man?  I  will 
not  deny  that  such  a  fancy  drifted  through 
my  brain.  But  it  was  indistinct  and  occa- 
sional. I  did  not  even  know  what  it  was  to 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  135 

be  a  learned  man.  I  do  not  know  now.  The 
driving  force  that  was  on  me  was  something 
quite  different.  I  found  myself  disagreeably 
ignorant.  Reading  books  and  newspapers, 
I  continually  found  matters  referred  to  of 
which  I  knew  nothing.  Looking  out  on  the 
universe,  I  did  not  understand  it;  and  look- 
ing into  the  yet  more  marvelous  universe 
within,  I  was  still  more  grievously  perplexed. 
I  thought  life  not  worth  living  on  such  terms. 
I  determined  to  get  rid  of  my  ignorance  and 
to  endure  such  limitations  of  knowledge  no 
longer.  Is  there,  I  asked,  any  place  where  at 
least  a  portion  of  my  stupidity  may  be  set 
aside?  I  removed  a  little  fraction  at  school,  but 
revealed  also  enormous  expanses  which  I  had 
not  suspected  before.  I  therefore  pressed  on 
farther,  and  to-day  am  still  engaged  in  the 
almost  hopeless  attempt  to  extirpate  my  ig- 
norance. What  incites  me  continually  is  the 
sense  of  how  small  I  am,  not  that  which  a 
few  moments  ago  seemed  my  best  incentive  — 
the  picture  of  myself  as  large.  That  on  the 
whole  has  had  comparatively  little  influence. 
Of  course  I  do  not  assert  that  we  are  altogether 
without  visions  of  a  larger  life.  That  is  far 
from  being  the  case.  Were  it  so,  desire 


136  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

would  cease.  We  must  contrast  the  poverty 
of  the  present  with  the  fullness  of  a  possible 
future,  or  we  should  not  incline  to  turn  from 
that  present.  Yet  our  grand  driving  force 
is  that  sense  of  limitation,  of  want  or  need, 
which  was  discussed  in  the  last  chapter.  And 
our  aim  is  rather  at  a  better  than  at  a  best, 
at  the  removal  of  some  small  distinct  hin- 
drance than  at  arrival  at  a  completed  goal. 
We  come  upon  excellence  piecemeal,  and  do 
not,  like  the  architect,  look  upon  it  in  its 
entirety  at  the  outset. 

Yet  in  the  pursuit  of  this  "better,"  the 
more  vividly  we  can  figure  the  coming  stages, 
the  more  easily  will  they  be  attained.  For 
this  purpose  the  careers  of  those  who  have 
gone  before  us  are  helpful,  —  reports  about 
the  great  ones  of  the  past,  and  the  revelations 
of  themselves  which  they  have  left  us  in  litera- 
ture and  institutions.  Example  is  a  powerful 
agent  in  making  our  footsteps  quick  and  true. 
But  it  has  its  dangers,  and  may  be  a  means  of 
terrifying  unless  we  feel  that  even  in  our  low 
estate  there  are  capacities  allying  us  with  our 
exemplar.  The  first  vision  of  excellence  is 
overwhelming.  We  draw  back,  knowing  that 
we  do  not  look  like  that,  and  we  cannot  bear 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  137 

to  behold  what  is  so  superior.  But  by  degrees, 
feeling  our  kinship  with  excellence,  we  are 
befriended. 

I  would  not,  then,  make  rigid  statements 
in  regard  to  this  point  of  method.  Grateful 
as  I  believe  we  should  be  for  every  sense  of 
need,  this  is  obviously  not  enough.  To  some 
extent  we  must  have  in  mind  the  betterment 
which  we  may  obtain  through  supplying  that 
need.  Yet  I  do  not  think  a  full  plan  of  our 
ultimate  goal  is  usually  desirable.  In  small 
matters  it  is  often  possible  and  convenient. 
I  plan  my  stay  in  Europe  before  going  there. 
I  figure  my  business  prospects  before  form- 
ing a  partnership.  But  in  prof  ounder  affairs, 
I  more  wisely  set  out  from  the  thought  of  the 
present,  and  the  patent  need  of  improving  it, 
than  from  the  future  with  its  ideal  perfection. 
Goethe's  rule  is  a  good  one  :  — 

"  Willst  du  ins  Unendliche  sclireiten  ? 
So  such  das  Endliche,  naoh  alien  Seiten." 

Would  you  reach  the  infinite?  Then  enter 
into  finite  things,  working  out  all  that  they 
contain. 

IX 

If  in  working  them  out  a  test  is  wanted  to 
enable  us  to  decide  whether  we  are  working 


138  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

wisely  or  to  our  harm,  I  believe  such  a  test 
may  be  found  in  the  congruity  of  the  new 
with  the  old.  Shall  I  by  adding  a  fresh 
power  to  myself  strengthen  those  I  already 
possess  ?  By  taking  this  path,  rich  in  a  cer- 
tain sort  of  good  as  it  undoubtedly  is,  shall 
I  be  diverted  from  paths  where  my  special 
goods  lie?  Here  I  am,  a  student  of  ethics. 
A  friend  calls  and  tells  me  of  the  charms 
of  astronomy,  a  study  undoubtedly  majestic 
and  delightful.  Since  I  desire  to  take  all 
knowledge  for  my  province,  why  not  hurry 
off  at  once  to  study  astronomy  ?  No  indeed. 
No  astronomy  for  me.  I  draw  a  ring  about 
that  subject  and  say,  "  Precious  subject,  fun- 
damentally valuable  for  all  men.  But  I  will 
remain  ignorant  of  it,  because  it  is  not  quite 
congruous  with  the  studies  I  already  have  on 
hand."  That  must  be  my  test :  not  how  im- 
portant is  the  study  itself,  but  how  importanl 
is  it  for  me  ?  How  far  will  it  help  me  to 
accept  and  develop  those  limitations  to  which 
I  am  now  pledged  ? 

lit: this  acceptance  of  limitation,  therefore, 
which  seems  at  first  so  humiliating,  I  believe 


we  have  the  starting  point  of  all  self-develop- 
ment.    Our  very  imperfections,  once  accepted, 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  139 

prove  our  best  means  of  discerning  more. 
That  is  a  profound  remark  of  Hegel's  that 
knowledge  of  a  KflHt  Iff  ft  Jpnwlftdge  beyond 
that  lilpitr  Let  us  consider  for  a  moment 
what  it  means.  Suppose  I  should  come  upon 
Kaspar  Hauser,  shut  in  his  little  room. 
"  And  how  long  have  you  been  here,"  I  ask. 
"  Ever  since  I  was  born,"  he  answers.  "  In- 
deed !  How  much,  then,  do  you  know  ?  " 
"  Nothing  beyond  the  walls  of  this  room." 
Might  I  not  fairly  reply,  "  You  contradict 
yourself.  How  can  you  know  anything  about 
walls  of  a  room  unless  you  also  know  of  much 
beyond  them  ?  "  We  cannot  conceive  a  limit 
except  as  a  limit  from  something.  Accord- 
ingly when  we  detect  our  ignorance  we  be- 
come by  that  very  fact  not  ignorant.  We 
have  gone  beyond  ourselves  and  have  seen 
that  we  are  not  what  we  should  be.  And 
this  is  the  way  of  self-development.  Becom- 
ing aware  of  our  imperfections,  we  by  that 
very  fact  continually  lay  hold  on  whatever 
perfect  is  within  our  reach. 

X 

When  then  we  ask  whether  at  any  moment 
we  are  fully  persons,  we  must  answer,  No. 


140  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

The  actual  extent  of  personality  is  at  any 
time  small.  It  is  rather  a  goal  than  some- 
thing ever  attained.  We  have  seen  that  it  is 
not  to  be  described  in  terms  of  the  verb  "  to 
be."  We  cannot  say  "  I  am  a  person,"  but 
only  "  I  ought  to  be  a  person.  I  am  seeking 
to  be."  The  great  body  of  our  life  is,  we 
know,  a  purely  natural  affair.  Our  instincts, 
our  wayward  impulses,  our  unconnected  dis- 
orderly purposes  —  these,  which  fill  the  larger 
portion  of  our  existence,  do  not  express  our 
personal  nature.  Each  of  them  goes  on  its 
own  way,  neglectful  of  the  whole.  There- 
fore we  must  confess  that  at  no  time  can  we 
account  ourselves  completed  persons.  Justly 
we  use  such  strange  expressions  as  "He  is 
much  of  a  person,"  "  He  is  very  little  of  a 
person."  Personality  is  an  affair  of  degree. 
We  are  moving  toward  it,  but  have  not  yet 
arrived.  "  Man  partly  is  and  wholly  hopes 
to  be."  And  can  we  ever  arrive  ?  I  do  not 
see  how.  We  are  chasing  a  flying  goal. 
The  nearer  we  approach,  the  farther  it  re- 
moves. Shall  we  call  this  fact  discouraging, 
then,  or  even  say  that  self-development  is  a 
useless  process,  since  it  never  can  be  fulfilled  ? 
I  think  not.  I  should  rather  specify  this  fea- 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  141 

ture  of  it  as  our  chief  source  of  encourage- 
ment ;  for  I  hold  that  only  those  aims  which 
do  thus  contain  an  infinite  element  and  are, 
strictly  speaking,  unattainable,  move  mankind 
to  passionate  pursuit.  Probably  all  will  agree 
that  riches,  fame,  and  wisdom  are  ideals  which 
predominantly  move  us,  and  they  are  all  un- 
attainable. Suppose,  some  morning,  when  I 
see  a  merchant  setting  off  for  his  office  quite 
too  early,  I  ask  him  why  he  is  hastening  so. 
He  answers,  "  Why,  there  is  money  to  be 
made.  And  as  I  intend  to  be  a  rich  man 
some  day,  I  must  leave  home  comforts  and  be 
prompt  at  my  desk."  But  I  persist,  "  You 
have  forgotten  something.  It  occurs  to  me 
that  you  never  can  be  rich.  No  rich  man 
was  ever  seen.  Whoever  has  obtained  a  mil- 
lion dollars  can  get  a  million  more,  and  the 
man  of  two  millions  can  become  one  of  three. 
Obviously,  then,  neither  you  nor  any  one  can 
become  a  completely  rich  man."  Should  I  stay 
that  merchant  from  his  exit  by  remarks  of  this 
kind?  If  he  answered  at  all,  he  would 
merely  say,  "  Don't  read  too  much.  You  had  U  I 
better  mix  more  with  men." 

And  I  should  get  no  better  treatment  from 
the  scholar,  the  man  who  is  seeking  wisdom. 


142  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

It  is  true  no  really  wise  man  ever  was  on 
earth,  or  ever  will  be.  But  that  is  the  very 
reason  why  we  are  all  so  impassioned  for  wis- 
dom, because  every  bit  we  seize  only  opens  the 
door  to  more.  If  we  could  get  it  in  full,  if 
some  time  or  other,  knowing  that  we  are  now 
wise,  we  could  sit  down  in  our  armchairs  with 
nothing  further  to  do,  it  would  be  a  death 
blow  to  our  colleges.  Nobody  would  attend 
them  or  care  for  wisdom  longer.  An  aim 
which  one  can  reach,  and  discover  to  be 
finally  ended,  moves  only  children.  They 
will  make  collections  of  birds'  eggs,  though 
conceivably  they  might  obtain  every  species 
in  the  neighborhood.  But  these  are  not  the 
things  which  excite  earnest  men.  They  run 
after  fame,  because  they  can  never  be  quite 
famous.  They  may  become  known  to  every 
person  on  their  street,  but  there  is  the  street 
beyond.  Or  to  every  one  in  their  town,  but 
there  are  other  towns.  Or  if  to  every  person 
on  earth,  there  are  still  the  after  ages.  En- 
tire fame  cannot  be  had  ;  and  exactly  on  that 
account  it  stirs  every  impulse  of  our  nature 
in  pursuit. 

Now  the  aim  at  personal  perfection  is  pre- 
cisely of  this  sort.     As  servants  of  righteous- 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  143 

ness  we  cannot  accept  any  other  precept  than 
"  Be  ye  perfect  as  your  Father  which  is  in 
heaven  is  perfect."  But  we  know  such  per- 
fection to  be  unattainable.  Yet  I  sometimes 
doubt  whether  we  state  the  matter  truly  so. 
Would  it  not  be  juster  to  say  that  perfection 
can  always  be  attained,  and  that  it  is  about 
the  only  thing  which  can  be  ?  We  might  well 
say  of  all  the  infinite  ideals  that  they  differ 
from  the  finite  ones  simply  in  this,  that  the 
finite  can  be  attained  but  once,  and  then  are 
ended,  while  the  infinite  are  continually  at- 
tained. At  no  moment  of  his  life  shall  the1; 
merchant  be  cut  off  from  becoming  richer,  or 
the  scholar  from  growing  wiser,  or  the  pub- 
lic benefactor  from  acquiring  further  fame. 
These  aims,  then,  are  always  attainable;  for 
in  them  what  we  think  of  as  the  goal  is  not, 
as  in  other  cases,  a  single  point  which,  once 
reached,  renders  the  rest  of  life  useless  and 
listless.  The  goal  here  is  the  line  of  increase. 
To  be  moving  along  that  line  should  be  our 
daily  endeavor.  Our  proper  utterance  should 
be,  "I  was  never  so  good  as  to-day,  and  I 
hope  never  to  be  so  bad  again." 


144  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

XI 

But  when  we  have  seen  how  slender  is  our 
actual  perfection,  how  slight  must  be  reck- 
oned the  attainment  of  personality  at  any 
moment,  we  are  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  profound  problem  of  its  possible  extent. 
How  far  can  the  self  be  developed?  Infi- 
nitely ?  Is  each  one  of  us  an  infinite  being  ? 
I  will  not  say  so.  I  do  not  like  to  make  a 
statement  which  runs  beyond  my  own  experi- 
ence. But  confining  myself  to  this,  let  us  see 
what  it  will  show. 

When  at  any  time  I  seek  to  perfect  my- 
self, does  my  attainment  of  any  grade  of  im- 
provement prevent  or  further  another  step  ? 
All  will  agree  that  it  simply  opens  a  new 
door.  Perhaps  I  am  seeking  to  withdraw 
from  habits  of  mendacity,  and  beginning  to 
tell  the  truth.  Then  every  time  I  tell  the 
truth  I  shall  discover  more  truth  to  tell.  And 
will  this  process  ever  come  to  an  end?  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  "  evers."  I  can  only  say 
that  each  time  I  try  it,  advance  is  more  pos- 
sible, not  less  possible.  In  the  personal  life 
there  is,  if  I  may  say  so,  no  provision  for 
checkage.  As  I  understand  it,  in  the  animal 


SELF-DEVELOPMENT  145 

life  there  is  such  provision.  In  my  first  chap- 
ter I  was  pointing  out  the  difference  between 
extrinsic  and  intrinsic  goodness;  and  I  said 
that  the  table's  entering  into  use  and  hold- 
ing objects  on  its  top  tended  to  destroy  it, 
though  we  might  imagine  a  magic  table  in 
which  every  exercise  of  function  would  be 
preservative.  Now  in  the  personal  nature  we 
find  just  such  a  magical  provision.  Each  time! ' 
a  person  normally  exerts  himself  he 
further  exertion  in  those  normal  ways 
possible. 

And  if  this  is  true  of  all  personal  action 
within  our  experience,  what  right  have  we  to 
set  a  limit  to  it  anywhere  ?  It  may  not  be 
suitable  to  say  that  I  know  myself  infinite, 
but  it  is  certainly  true  that  I  cannot  conceive 
myself  as  finite.  I  can  readily  see  that  this 
body  of  mine  has  in  it  what  I  have  called  a 
provision  for  checkage.  Every  time  the  blood 
moves  in  my  veins  it  leaves  its  little  deposit. 
Further  motion  of  that  blood  is  slightly  im- 
peded. But  every  time  a  moral  purpose'/ 
moves  my  lif  e,  it  makes  the  next  move  surer. 
It  is  impossible  to  draw  lines  of  limitation  in 
moral  development. 


146  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

XII 

Such,  then,  is  the  vast  conception  with 
which  we  have  been  dealing.  Goodness,  to 
be  personal,  must  express  perpetual  self -devel- 
opment. All  the  moral  aims  of  life  may  be 
summed  up  in  the  single  word,  "  self-realiza- 
tion." Could  I  fully  realize  myself,  I  should 
have  fulfilled  all  righteousness,  and  this  view 
is  sanctioned  by  the  Great  Teacher  when  he 
asks,  "  What  shah*  a  man  give  in  exchange 
for  his  life  ? "  —  his  life,  his  soul,  his  self 
If  any  one  fully  believed  this,  and  lived  as  i 
all  his  desires  were  fulfilled  so  long  as  he  had 
opportunities  of  self-development,  he  might 
be  said  to  have  insured  himself  against  every 
catastrophe.  Little  could  harm  him.  What- 
ever occurred,  instead  of  exclaiming,  "How 
calamitous !  "  he  would  simply  ask,  "  What 
fresh  opportunities  do  these  strange  circum- 
stances present  for  enlarged  living  ?  Let  me 
add  this  new  discipline  to  what  I  had  before. 
Seeking  as  I  am  to  become  expanded  into  the 
infinite,  this  experience  discloses  a  new  avenue 
thither.  All  things  work  together  for  good 
to  them  that  love  the  Lord." 


REFERENCES    ON    SELF-DEVELOPMENT 

Bradley's  Ethical  Studies,  essay  vi. 
Green's  Prolegomena  of  Ethics,  bk.  iii.  cb.  ii. 
Alexander's  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  bk.  iii.  ch.  iv. 
Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  bk.  iii.  ch.  iii. 
Mackenzie's  Manual  of  Ethics,  pt.  i.  ch.  vii. 
Dewey  in  Philos.  Journal,  Dec.,  1893. 


VI 

SELF-SACRIFICE 


VI 

SELF-SACKIFICE 
I 

THE  view  of  human  goodness  presented  in 
the  preceding  chapter  is  one  which  is  at  present 
finding  remarkably  wide  acceptance.  Philoso- 
phers are  often  reproached  with  an  indisposi- 
tion to  agree,  and  naturally  where  inquiry  is 
active  diversity  will  obtain.  But  to-day  there 
appears  a  strange  unanimity  as  regards  the 
ultimate  formula  of  ethics.  The  empirical 
schools  state  this  as  the  highest  form  of  the 
struggle  for  existence ;  the  idealistic,  as  self- 
realization.  .  The  two  are  the  same  so  far 
as  they  both  regard  morality  as  having  to 
do  with  the  development  of  life  in  persons. 
These  curious  beings,  both  also  acknowledge, 
can  never  rest  till  they  attain  a  completeness 
now  incalculable. 

Of  course  there  is  abundant  diversity  in  the 
application  of  such  formulae.  In  interpreting 


152  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

them  we  come  upon  problems  no  less  urgent 
and  tangled  than  those  which  vexed  our 
fathers.  Who  and  what  is  a  person  ?  How 
far  is  he  detachable  from  nature  ?  How  far 
from  his  fellow  men  ?  Is  his  individuality  an 
illusion,  and  each  of  us  only  an  imperfect  phase 
of  a  single  universal  being,  so  that  in  strict- 
ness we  must  own  that  there  is  none  good  but 
one,  that  is  God  ?  These  and  kindred  ques- 
tions naturally  oppress  the  thought  of  our 
time.  Yet  all  are  but  so  many  attempts  to 
push  the  formula  of  self-realization  into  entire 
clearness.  The  considerable  agreement  in 
ethical  formulae  everywhere  noticeable  shows 
that  at  least  so  much  advance  has  been  made : 
morality  has  ceased  to  be  primarily  repres- 
sive, and  is  now  regarded  as  the  amplest  exhibit 
of  human  nature,  free  from  every  external 
precept,  however  sacred.  Man  is  the  measure 
of  the  moral  universe,  and  the  development  of 
himself  his  single  duty. 

But  when  we  thus  accept  self-realization  as 
our  supreme  aim,  we  bring  ourselves  into  seem- 
ing conflict  with  one  of  our  prof  oundest  moral 
instincts.     It  is  Fdf-gaflrifi^  *haf.  fl*n«^fgrtli  I 
from  all  mankind,  as  nothing  else  does,  the! 
distinctively  moral  response  of  reverence.    In-/ 


SELF-SACRIFICE  153 

telligence,  skill,  beauty,  learning  —  we  admire 
them  all  ;  but  when  we  see  an  act  of  self- 
sacrifice,  however  small,  an  awe  falls  on  us  ; 
we  bow  our  heads,  fearful  that  we  might  not 
have  been  capable  of  anything  so  glorious. 
We^thm  acknowledge  self-sacrifice  to  be  the 
very  culmination  of  the  moral  life.  He  who 
understands  it  has  comprehended  all  righteous- 
ness, human  and  divine.  But  how  does  self- 
sacrifice  accord  with  self-development  ?  Will 
he  who  is  busy  cultivating  himself  sacrifice 
himself  ?  Is  there  not  a  kind  of  conflict  be- 
tween the  two  ?  Yet  can  we  abandon  either  ? 
And  if  not,  must  not  the  formula  of  self- 
realization  accept  modification  ? 

This,  then,  is  the  problem  to  which  I  must' 
now  turn  :  the  possible  adjustment  of  these 
two  imperative  claims,  —  the  claim  to  realize 
one's  self  and  the  claim  to 


And  I  shall  most  easily  set  my  theme  before 
my  readers  if  I  state  at  once  the  four  historic 
objections  to  the  reality  of  self-sacrifice.  I 
call  them  historic,  for  they  have  appeared 
and  reappeared  in  the  history  of  ethics,  and 
have  been  worked  out  there  on  a  great  scale. 
While  not  altogether  consistent  with  one  an- 

O 

other,  no  one  of  them  is  unimportant.     To- 


154  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

gether  they  compactly  present  those  conflict- 
ing considerations  which  must  be  borne  in 
mind  when  we  attempt  to  comprehend  the 
subtleties  of  self-sacrifice.  I  will  endeavor  to 
state  them  briefly  and  sympathetically. 

II 

First,  self-sacrifice  is  psychologically  impos- 
sible. No  man  ever  performs  a  strictly  disin- 
terested act,  as  has  been  shown  in  my  chap- 
ter on  self -direction.  Before  desire  will  start, 
his  own  interest  must  be  engaged.  In  action 
we  seek  to  accomplish  something,  and  be- 
tween that  something  and  ourselves  some  sort 
of  valued  connection  must  be  felt.  Every 
wish  indicates  that  the  wisher  experiences  a 
need  which  he  thinks  might  be  supplied  by 
the  object  wished  for.  It  is  true  that  wishes 
and  wills  are  often  directed  upon  external  ob- 
jects, but  only  because  we  believe  that  our 
own  well-being  is  involved  in  their  union 
with  us.  I  devote  myself  to  my  friend  as 
my  friend,  counting  his  happiness  and  my 
own  inseparable.  Were  he  so  entirely  a  for- 
eigner that  I  had  no  interest  in  him,  my  sac- 
rifices for  him  —  even  if  conceivable  —  would 
be  meaningless.  They  acquire  meaning  only 


SELF-SACEIFICE  155 

through.  mj_.sense.  of _.a  tie-betwpipn  him  and 
me.  My  service  of  him  may  be  regarded  as 
my  escape  from  petty  selfishness  into  broad 
selfishness,  from  immediate  gain  to  remote 
gain.  But  the  prospect  of  gain  in  some  form, 
proximate  or  ultimate,  gain  often  of  an  impal- 
pable and  spiritual  sort,  always  attends  my 
wish  and  will.  The__aini_at_  seltteslizatiQii, 
however  hidden,  is  everywhere  the  root  of 
_action.  No  belittlement  of  ourselves  can  ap- 
pear desirable  except  as  a  step  toward  ultimate 
enlargement.  Self-sacrifice  in  any  true  and  it 
thorough-going  sense  never  occurs. 

So  cogent  is  this  objection,  and  so  fre- 
quently does  it  appear,  not  only  in  ethical 
discussion  but  in  the  minds  of  the  struggling 
multitude,  that  he  who  has  not  faced  it,  and 
taken  its  truth  well  to  heart,  can  have  little 
comprehension  of  self-sacrifice.  But  it  is  a 
blessed  fact  that  thousands  who  comprehend 
self-sacrifice  little  practise  it  largely. 

Ill 

A  second  objection  strips  off  the  glory  of 
self-sacrifice  and  regards  it  as  a  sad  necessity. 
While  there  is  nothing  in  it  to  attract  or  be 
approved,  the  lamentable  fact  is  that  we  are 


156  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

so  crowded  together  and  disposed  to  trample 
on  one  another  that,  partially  to  escape,  we 
must  each  agree  to  abate  something  of  our 
own  in  behalf  of  a  neighbor's  gain.  We  can- 
not each  be  all  we  would.  It  is  a  sign  of  our 
mean  estate  that  again  and  again  we  need  to 
cut  off  sections  of  what  we  count  valuable 
in  order  to  save  any  portion.  Only  by  such 
compromises  are  we  able  to  get  along  with 
one  another.  He  who  refuses  them  finds 
himself  exposed  to  still  greater  loss.  The 
hard  conditions  under  which  we  live  appear 
in  the  fact  that  such  restraint  is  inevitable.  It 
call  self-sacrifice,  therefore,  a  sad  necessity.  \ 

This  theory  of  sacrifice  is  urged  by  Hobbes 
and  by  the  many  later  moralists  who  follow 
his  daring  lead.  It  should  be  counted  among 
the  objections  because,  while  it  admits  the  fact 
of  self-sacrifice,  it  denies  its  dignity. 

IV 

A  third  objection  declares  sacrifice  to  be 
-  needless.  Its  very  appearance  rests  on  a  mis- 
conception. We  mistakenly  suppose  that  in 
abating  our  own  for  the  sake  of  our  neigh- 
bor's good,  we  lose.  In  reality  this  is  our 
true  mode  of  enlargement.  The  interests  of 


SELF-SACRIFICE  157 

I  the  individual  and  society  are  not  hostile  or 
|  alien,  but  supplemental.  Society  is  nothing 
but  the  larger  individual ;  so  that  he  alone 
realizes  himself  who  enters  most  fully  into 
social  relations,  making  the  well-being  of  so- 
ciety his  own.  This  is  plain  enough  when 
we  study  the  working  of  a  small  and  compre- 
hensible portion  of  society.  The  child  does 
not  lose  through  identification  with  family 
life.  That  is  his  great  means  of  realizing 
himself.  To  assume  contrast  and  antagonism 
between  family  interest  and  the  interest  of 
the  child  is  palpably  unwarranted  and  untrue. 
Equally  unwarranted  is  a  similar  assumption 
in  the  broader  ranges  of  society.  When  we 
talk  of  sacrifice,  we  refer  merely  to  the  first 
stage  and  outer  aspect  of  the  act.  Under- 
neath, self-interest  is  guarded,  the  individual 
giving  up  his  individuality  only  through  ob- 
taining a  larger  individuality  still. 

Such  identity  of  interest  between  society 
and  the  individual  the  moralists  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  are  never  tired  of  pointing  out. 
If  they  are  right,  and  the  identity  is  complete, 
then  sacrifice  is  abolished  or  is  only  a  gener- 
ous illusion.  But  these  men  never  quite  suc- 
ceeded in  persuading  the  English  people  of 


158  THE  NATUEE  OF  GOODNESS 

their  doctrine,  at  least  they  never  carried  their 
thought  fully  over  into  the  common  mind. 


That  common  mind  has  always  thought  of 
sacrifice  in  a  widely  different  way,  but  in 
one  which  renders  it  still  more  incomprehen- 
sible. Self -sacrifice  it  regards  as  a  glorious 
madness.  Though  the  only  act  which  ever 
forces  us  to  bow  in  reverent  awe,  it  is  insolu- 
bly  mysterious,  irrational,  crazy  perhaps,  but 
superb.  For  in  it  we  do  not  deliberate.  We 
hear  a  call,  we  shut  our  ears  to  prudence,  and 
with  courageous  blindness  as  regards  damage 
of  our  own,  we  hasten  headlong  to  meet  the 
needs  of  others.  To  reckon  heroism,  to  count 
up  opposing  gains  and  losses,  balancing  them 
one  against  another  in  order  clear-sightedly 
to  act,  is  to  render  heroism  impossible.  Into 
it  there  enters  an  element  of  insanity.  The 
sacrificer  must  feel  that  he  cares  nothing  for 
what  is  rational,  but  only  for  what  is  holy, 
for  his  duty.  The  rational  and  the  hplv^  — 
in  the  mind  of  him  who  has  not  been  dis- 
turbed by  theoretic  controversy  these  two 
stand  in  harsh  antithesis,  and  the  antithesis 
has  been  approved  by  important  ethical  writers 


SELF-SACRIFICE  159 

of  our  time.  The  rational  man  is,  of  course, 
needed  in  the  humdrum  work  of  life.  His 
assertive  and  sagacious  spirit  clears  many  a 
tangled  pathway.  But  he  gets  no  reverence, 
the  characteristic  response  of  self-sacrifice. 
This  is  reserved  for  him  who  says,  "  No  pru- 
dence for  me !  I  will  be  admirably  crazy. 
Let  me  fling  myself  away,  so  only  there  come 
salvation  to  others." 

Such,  then,  are  the  four  massive  objections  : 
self-sacrifice  is  unreal  psychologically,  aesthet- 
ically, morally,  or  rationally.  But  negative 
considerations  are  not  enough.  No  amount 
of  demonstration  of  what  a  thing  is  not  will 
ever  reveal  what  it  is.  Objections  are  merely 
of  value  for  clearing  a  field  and  marking  the 
spots  on  which  a  structure  cannot  be  reared. 
The  serious  task  of  erecting  that  structure 
somewhere  still  remains.  To  it  I  now  address 
myself. 

VI 

What  we  need  to  consider  first  is  the  reality 
and  wide  range  of  self-sacrifice.  The  moment 
the  term  is  mentioned  there  spring  up  before 
our  minds  certain  typical  examples  of  it.  We 
see  the  soldier  advancing  toward  the  battle- 


160  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

field,  to  stake  his  life  for  a  country  in  Avhose 
prosperity  he  may  never  share.  We  see  the 
infant  falling  into  the  water,  and  the  full- 
grown  man  flinging  in  after  it  his  own  assured 
and  valued  life  in  hopes  of  rescuing  that  incip- 
ient and  uncertain  thing,  a  little  child.  Yes, 
I  myself  came  on  a  case  of  heroism  hardly  less 
striking.  I  was  riding  my  bicycle  along  the 
public  street  when  there  dashed  past  me  a 
runaway  horse  with  a  carriage  at  his  heels, 
both  moving  so  madly  that  I  thought  all 
the  city  was  in  danger.  I  pursued  as  rap- 
idly as  I  could,  and  as  I  neared  my  home,  saw 
horse  and  carriage  standing  by  the  sidewalk. 
By  the  horse's  head  stood  a  negro.  I  went 
up  to  him  and  said,  "  Did  you  catch  that 
horse?"  "Yes,  sir,"  he  answered.  "But," 
I  said,  "  he  was  going  at  a  furious  pace." 
"  Yes,  sir."  "  And  he  might  have  run  you 
down."  "  Yes,  sir,  but  I  know  horses,  and  I 
was  afraid  he  would  hurt  some  of  these  chil- 
dren." There  he  stood,  the  big  brown  hero, 
unexalted,  soothing  the  still  restive  horse  and 
unaware  of  having  done  anything  out  of  the 
ordinary.  I  entered  my  house  ashamed.  Had 
I  possessed  such  skill,  would  I  have  ventured 
my  life  in  such  a  fashion  ? 


SELF-SACRIFICE  161 

Such  are  some  of  the  shining  examples  of 
self-sacrifice  which  occur  to  us  at  the  first 
mention  of  the  word.  But  we  shall  mislead 
ourselves  if  we  confine  our  thoughts  to  cases 
so  climactic,  triumphant,  and  spectacular. 
Deeds  like  these  dazzle  and  do  not  invite  to 
full  analysis  of  their  nature.  Let  us  turn  to 
affairs  more  usual. 

I  have  happened  to  know  intimately  mem- 
hers  of  three  professions  —  ministers,  nurses, 
teachers  —  and  I  find  self-sacrifice  a  matter  of 
daily  practice  with  them  all.  To  it  the  min- 
istsr  is  dedicated.  He  must  not  look  for  gain. 
He  has  a  salary,  of  course ;  but  it  is  much  in 
the  nature  of  a  fee,  a  means  of  insuring  him 
a  certain  kind  of  living.  And  while  it  is  com- 
mon enough  to  find  a  minister  studying  how 
he  may  make  money  in  his  parish,  it  is  com- 
moner far  to  find  one  bent  on  seeing1  how  he 

o 

can  make  righteousness  prevail  there,  though 
it  overwhelm  him.  The  other  professions  do 
not  so  manifestly  aim  at  self-sacrifice.  They 
are  distinctly  money-making.  They  exact  a 
given  sum  for  a  given  service.  Still,  in  them 
too  how  constantly  do  we  see  that  that  which 
is  given  far  outruns  that  which  is  paid  for. 
I  have  watched  pretty  closely  the  work  of  a 


162  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

dozen  or  more  trained  nurses,  and  I  believe  it 
would  be  hard  to  find  any  class  in  the  com- 
munity showing  a  higher  average  of  estimable 
character.  How  quiet  they  are  under  the 
most  irritating  circumstances !  How  fully 
they  pour  themselves  into  the  lives  of  their 
patients !  How  prompt  is  the  deft  hand ! 
How  considerate  the  swift  intelligence !  Their 
hearts  are  aglow  over  what  can  be  given,  not 
over  what  can  be  got.  A  similar  temper  is 
widely  observable  among  teachers,  especially 
among  those  of  the  lower  grades.  Paid 
though  they  are  for  a  certain  task,  how  indis- 
posed they  are  to  limit  themselves  to  that  task 
or  to  confine  their  care  of  their  children  to 
the  schoolroom !  The  hard-worked  creatures 
acquire  an  intimate  interest  in  the  little  lives 
and,  heedless  of  themselves,  are  continually 
ready  to  spend  and  be  spent  for  those  who 
cannot  know  what  they  receive.  Among  such 
teachers  I  find  self-sacrifice  as  broad,  as  deep, 
as  genuine,  if  not  so  striking,  as  that  of  the 
soldier  in  the  field. 

Evidently,  then,  self-sacrifice  may  be  wide- 
spread and  may  permeate  the  institutions  of 
ordinary  life ;  being  found  even  in  occupa- 
tions primarily  ordered  by  principles  of  give 


SSLF-SACEIFICE  163 

and  take,  where  it  expresses  itself  in  a  kind 
of  surplusage  of  giving  above  what  is  pre- 
scribed in  the  contract.  In  this  form  it  enters 
into  trade.  The  high-minded  merchant  is  not 
concerned  merely  with  getting  his  money 
back  from  an  article  sold.  He  interests  him- 
self in  the  thoroughly  excellent  quality  of 
that  article,  in  the  accommodation  of  his  cus- 
tomers, the  soundness  of  his  business  methods, 
and  the  honorable  standing  of  his  firm.  And 
when  we  turn  to  our  public  officials,  how  fre- 
quent it  is  —  how  frequent  in  spite  of  what 
the  newspapers  say  —  to  find  men  eager  for 
the  public  good,  men  ready  to  take  labor  on 
themselves  if  only  the  state  may  be  saved  from 
cost  and  damage ! 

But  I  still  underestimate  the  prevalence  of 
the  principle.  Our  instances  must  be  homelier 
yet.  Each  day  come  petty  citations  to  self- 
sacrifice  which  are  accepted  as  a  matter  of 
course.  As  I  walk  to  my  lecture-room  some- 
body stops  me  and  says,  "  What  is  the  way 
to  Berkeley  Street?"  Do  I  reprovingly 
answer,  "  You  must  have  made  a  mistake.  I 
have  no  interest  in  Berkeley  Street.  I  think 
it  is  you  who  are  going  there,  and  why  are 
you  putting  me  to  inconvenience  merely  that 


164  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

you  may  the  more  easily  find  your  way?" 
Should  I  answer  so,  he  would  think  and  pos- 
sibly say,  "  There  are  strange  people  in  Cam- 
bridge, remoter  from  human  kind  than  any 
known  elsewhere."  Every  one  would  feel  as- 
tonishment at  the  man  who  declined  to  bear 
his  little  portion  of  a  neighbor's  burden.  Our 
commonest  acceptance  of  society  involves 
self-sacrifice,  and  in  all  our  trivial  intercourse 
we  expect  to  put  ourselves  to  unrewarded  in- 
convenience for  the  sake  of  others. 

VII 

What  I  have  set  myself  to  make  plain  in 
this  series  of  graded  examples  is  simply  this : 
self-sacrifice  is  not  something  exceptional, 
something  occurring  at  crises  of  our  lives, 
something  for  which  we  need  perpetually  to 
be  preparing  ourselves,  so  that  when  the  great 
occasion  comes  we  may  be  ready  to  lay  our- 
selves upon  its  altar.  Such  romanticism  dis- 
torts and  obscures.  Self-sacrifice  is  an  every- 
day affair.  By  it  we  live.  It  is  the  very  air 
of  our  moral  lungs.  Without  it  society  could 
not  go  on  for  an  hour.  And  that  is  precisely 
why  we  reverence  it  so  —  not  for  its  rarity, 
but  for  its  importance.  Nothing  else,  I  sup- 


SELF-SACRIFICE  165 

pose,  so  instantly  calls  on  the  beholder  for  a 
bowing  of  the  head.  Even  a  slight  exhibit 
of  it  sends  through  the  sensitive  observer  a 
thrill  of  reverent  abasement.  Other  acts  we 
may  admire ;  others  we  may  envy ;  this  we 
adore. 

Perhaps  we  are  now  prepared  to  sum  up 
our  descriptive  account  and  throw  what  we 
have  observed  into  a  sort  of  definition.  I 
mean  by  self-sacrifice  any  diminution  of  my 
own  possessions,  pleasures,  or  powers,  in  order 
to  increase  those  of  others.  Naturally  what 
we  first  think  of  is  the  parting  with  posses- 
sions. That  is  what  the  word  charity  most 
readily  suggests,  the  giving  up  of  some  physi- 
cal object  owned  by  us  which,  even  at  the 
moment  of  giving,  we  ourselves  desire.  But 
the  gift  may  be  other  than  a  physical  object. 
When  I  would  gladly  sit,  I  may  stand  in  the 
car  for  the  sake  of  giving  another  ease.  But 
the  greatest  conceivable  self-sacrifice  is  when 
I  give  myself  :  when,  that  is,  I  in  some  way 
allow  my  own  powers  to  be  narrowed  in  order 
that  those  of  some  one  else  may  be  enlarged. 
Parents  are  familiar  with  such  exquisite  char- 
ity, parents  who  put  themselves  to  daily  hard- 
ship because  they  want  education  for  their 


166      THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

boys.  But  they  have  no  monopoly  in  this 
kind.  I  who  stand  in  the  guardianship  of 
youth  have  frequent  occasion  to  miss  a  favor- 
ite pupil,  boy  or  girl,  who  throws  up  a  college 
training  and  goes  home  —  often,  in  my  judg- 
ment, mistakenly  —  to  support,  or  merely  to 
cheer,  the  family  there.  Of  course  such  gifts 
are  incomparable.  No  parting  with  one's 
goods,  no  abandonment  of  one's  pleasures, 
can  be  measured  against  them.  Yet  this  is 
what  is  going  on  all  over  the  country  where 
devoted  mother,  gallant  son,  loyal  husband, 
are  limiting  their  own  range  of  existence  for 
the  sake  of  broadening  that  of  certain  whom 
they  hold  dear. 

VIII 

But  when  we  have  thus  assembled  our  om- 
nipresent facts  and  set  them  in  order  for  cool 
assessment,  the  enigma  of  self-sacrifice  only 
appears  the  more  clearly.  Why  should  a  man 
sacrifice  himself  ?  Why  voluntarily  accept 
loss  ?  Each  of  us  has  but  a  single  lif  e.  Each 
feels  the  pressure  of  his  own  needs  and  desires. 
These  point  the  way  to  enlargement.  How, 
then,  can  I  disinterestedly  prefer  another's 
gain  ?  Each  of  us  is  penned  within  the  range 


SELF-SACRIFICE  167 

of  his  solitary  consciousness,  which  may  be 
broadened  or  narrowed  but  cannot  be  passed. 
It  is  incumbent  on  us,  therefore,  to  study 
our  own  enrichment.  Anticipating  whatever 
might  confirm  or  crumble  our  being,  we 
should  strenuously  seize  the  one  and  reject  the 
other.  Deliberately  to  turn  toward  loss  would 
seem  to  be  crazy.  What shouldarinan  accept 
in  exchange  for  his  life?  S\ 

Here  is  the  difficulty,  a  difficulty  of  the  pro- 
foundest  and  most  instructive  sort.  If  we 
could  see  our  way  clearly  through  it,  little  in 
ethics  would  remain  obscure.  The  common 
mode  of  meeting  it  is  to  leave  it  thus  para- 
doxical. Self-sacrifice  banishes  rationality 
and  is  a  glorious  madness.  But  such  a  con- 
clusion is  a  repellent  one.  How  can  it  be? 
Reason  is  man's  distinctive  characteristic. 
While  brutes  act  blindly,  while  the  punctual 
physical  universe  minutely  obeys  laws  of  which 
it  knows  nothing,  usually  it  is  open  to  man 
to  judge  the  path  he  will  pursue.  -  Shall  we 
then  say  that,  though  reason  is  a  convenience 
in  all  the  lower  stretches  of  life,  when  we 
reach  self-sacrifice,  our  single  awesome  height, 
it  ceases  ?  I  cannot  think  so.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  hold  that  in  self-sacrifice  we  have  a 


168  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

case  not  of  glorious  madness,  but  of  somewhat 
extreme  rationality.  How,  then,  is  rational 
contrasted  with  irrational  guidance  ?  As  we 
here  approach  the  central  and  most  difficult 
part  of  our  discussion,  clearness  will  oblige  me 
to  enter  into  some  detail. 

When  a  child  looks  at  a  watch,  he  sees  a 
single  object.  It  is  something  there,  a  some- 
thing altogether  detached  from  his  conscious- 
ness, from  the  table,  from  other  objects  around. 
It  is  a  brute  fact,  one  single  thing,  complete 
in  itself.  Such  is  the  child's  perception. 
But  a  man  of  understanding  looks  at  it  differ- 
ently. Its  detached  singleness  is  not  to  him 
the  most  important  truth  in  regard  to  it.  Its 
meaning  must  rather  be  found  in  the  relations 
in  which  it  stands,  relations  which,  seeming 
at  first  to  lie  outside  it,  really  enter  into  it  and 
make  it  what  it  is.  The  rational  man  would 
accordingly  see  it  all  alive  with  the  qualities 
of  gold,  brass,  steel,  the  metals  of  which  it  is 
composed.  He  would  find  it  incomprehensible 
apart  from  the  mind  of  its  maker,  and  would 
not  regard  that  mind  and  watch  as  two  things, 
but  as  matters  essentially  related.  Indeed, 
these  relations  would  run  wider  still,  and  rea- 
son would  not  rest  satisfied  until  the  watch 


SELF-SACRIFICE  169 

was  united  to  time  itself,  to  the  very  frame- 
work of  the  universe.  Apart  from  this  it 
would  be  meaningless.  In  short,  if  a  man 
comprehends  the  watch  in  a  rational  way  he 
must  comprehend  it  in  what  may  be  called  a 
conjunct  way.  The  child  might  picture  it  as 
abstract  and  single,  but  it  could  really  be 
known  only  in  connection  with  all  that  exists. 
Of  course  we  pause  far  short  of  such  full 
knowledge.  Our  reason  cannot  stretch  to  the 
infinity  of  things.  But  just  so  far  as  relations 
can  be  traced  between  this  object  and  all  other 
objects,  so  much  the  more  rational  does  the 
knowledge  of  the  watch  become.  Rationality  j 
is  the  comprehending  of  anything  in  its  rela-J 
tions.  The  perceptive,  isolated  view  is  irra-1 
tional. 

But  if  this  is  true  of  so  simple  a  matter  as 
a  watch,  it  is  doubly  true  of  a  complex  human 
being.  The  child  imagines  he  can  compre- 
hend a  person  too  in  isolation,  but  rational 
proverb-makers  long  ago  told  us,  "  One  per- 
son, no  person.'*  Each  person  must  be  con- 
ceived as  tied  in  with  all  his  fellows.  We  have 
seen  how  in  the  case  of  the  watch  we  were 
almost  obliged  to  abandon  the  thought  of  a 
single  object  and  to  speak  of  it  as  a  kind  of 


170      THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

centre  of  constitutive  relations.  A  plexus  of 
ties  runs  in  every  direction,  and  where  these 
cross  there  is  the  watch.  So  it  is  among 
human  beings.  If  we  try  for  a  moment  to 
conceive  a  person  as  single  and  detached, 
we  shall  find  he  would  have  no  powers  to 
exercise.  No  emotions  would  be  his,  whether 
of  love  or  hate,  for  they  imply  objects  to 
arouse  them,  no  occupations  of  civilized  life, 
for  these  involve  mutual  dependency.  From 
speech  he  would  be  cut  off,  if  there  were  no- 
body to  speak  to  ;  nor  would  any  such  instru- 
ment as  language  be  ready  for  his  use,  if  an- 
cestors had  not  cooperated  in  its  construction. 
His  very  thoughts  would  become  a  meaning- 
less series  of  impressions  if  they  indicated  no 
reality  beside  themselves.  So  empty  would 
be  that  fiction,  the  single  and  isolated  individ- 
ual. The  real  creature,  rational  and  conjunct 
man,  is  he  who  stands  in  living  relationship 
with  his  fellows,  they  being  a  veritable  part 
of  him  and  he  of  them.  Man  is  essentially  a 
social  being,  not  a  being  who  happens  to  be 
living  in  society.  Society  enters  into  his  in- 
most fibre,  and  apart  from  society  he  is  not. 
Yet  this  does  not  mean  that  society,  any  more 
than  the  individual,  has  an  independent  exist- 


SELF-SACRIFICE  171 

ence,  prior,  complete,  and  authoritative.  What 
would  society  be,  parted  from  the  individuals 
who  compose  it  ?  No  more  than  an  individ- 
ual who  does  not  embody  social  relationships. 
The  two  are  mutual  conceptions,  different 
aspects  of  the  same  thing.  We  may  view 
a  person  abstractly,  fixing  attention  on  his 
single  centre  of  consciousness ;  or  we  may 
view  him  conjunctly,  attending  to  his  multi- 
farious ties. 

Now  what  is  distinctive  of  self-sacrifice  is 
that  it  insists  in  a  somewhat  extreme  way  on 
this  second  and  rational  mode  of  regard.  It 
is  a  frank  confession  of  interlocking  lives.  It 
says,  "  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  abstract, 
isolated,  and  finite  self.  That  is  a  matter  of 
no  consequence.  What  I  care  about  is  the 
conjunct,  social,  and  infinite  self  —  that  self 
which  is  inseparable  from  others.  Where 
that  calls,  I  serve."  The  self-sacrificing  per- 
son knows  no  interest  of  his  own  separate 
from  those  of  his  father  and  mother,  his  wife 
and  children.  He  cannot  ask  what  is  good  for 
himself  and  set  it  in  contrast  with  what  is  good 
for  them.  For  his  own  broader  existence  is 
presented  in  these  dear  members  of  his  family. 
And  such  a  man,  so  far  from  being  mad,  is 


172  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

wise  as  few  of  us  are.  Glorious  indeed  is  the 
self-sacrificer,  because  he  is  so  sane,  because 
in  him  all  pettiness  and  detachment  are  swept 
away.  He  appears  mad  only  to  those  who 
stand  at  the  opposite  point  of  view,  but  in  his 
eyes  it  is  they  who  are  ridiculous.  In  fact, 
each  must  be  counted  crazy  or  wise  according 
to  the  view  we  take  of  what  constitutes  the 
real  person. 

I  remember  a  story  current  in  our  news- 
papers during  the  Civil  War.  Just  before  a 
battle  an  officer  of  our  army,  knowing  of  what 
consequence  it  was  that  his  regiment  should 
hold  its  ground,  hastened  to  the  rear  to  see 
that  none  of  his  men  were  straggling.  He 
met  a  cowardly  fellow  trying  to  regain  the 
camp.  Turning  upon  him  in  a  passion  of  dis- 
gust, he  said,  "  What !  Do  you  count  your 
miserable  little  life  worth  more  than  that  of 
this  great  army  ? "  "  Worth  more  to  me, 
sir,"  the  man  replied.  How  sensible !  How  en- 
tirely just  from  his  own  point  of  view,  that 
of  the  isolated  self !  Taking  only  this  into 
account,  he  was  but  a  moral  child,  incapable 
of  comprehending  anything  so  difficult  as  a 
conjunct  self.  He  imagined  that  could  he  but 
gave  this  eating,  breathing,  feeling  self,  no 


SELF-SACRIFICE  173 

matter  if  the  country  were  lost,  he  would 
be  a  gainer.  What  folly !  What  would  exist- 
ence be  worth  outside  the  total  inter-relation- 
ship of  human  beings  called  his  land  ?  But 
this  fact  he  could  not  perceive.  To  risk  his 
separate  self  in  such  a  cause  seemed  absurd. 
Turn  for  a  moment  and  see  how  absurd  the 
separate  self  appears  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  conjunct.  When  our  Lord  hung  upon 
the  cross,  the  jeering  soldiers  shouted,  "He. 
saved  others,  himself  he  cannot  save."  No, 
he  could  not ;  and  his  inability  seemed  to 
them  ridiculous,  while  it  was  in  reality  his 
glory.  His  true  self  he  was  saving  —  himself 
and  all  mankind  —  the  only  self  he  valued. 

IX 

Now  it  is  this  strange  complexity  of  our 
being,  compelling  us  to  view  ourselves  in  both 
a  separate  and  a  conjunct  way,  which  creates 
all  the  difficulty  in  the  problem  of  self-sacri- 
fice. But  I  dare  say  that  when  I  have  thus 
shown  the  reality  and  worth  of  the  conjunct 
self,  it  will  be  felt  that  self-sacrifice  is  alto- 
gether illusory ;  for  while  it  seems  to  produce 
loss,  it  is  in  fact  the  avoidance  of  what  entails 
littleness.  So  says  Emerson  :  — 


174  THE  NATUEE  OF  GOODNESS 

"  Let  love  repine  and  reason  chafe, 
There  came  a  voice  without  reply : 
'T  is  man's  perdition  to  be  safe 
When  for  the  truth  he  ought  to  die." 

Have  we  not,  then,  by  explaining  the  ration- 
ality of  self-sacrifice,  explained  away  the  whole 
matter  and  practically  identified  it  with  self- 
culture  ?  There  is  plausibility  in  this  view  — 
and  it  has  often  been  maintained  —  but  not 
complete  truth.  For  evidently  the  emotions 
excited  by  culture  and  sacrifice  are  directly 
antagonistic.  Toward  a  man  pursuing  the  ami 
of  culture  we  experience  a  feeling  of  approval, 
not  unmixed  with  suspicion,  but  we  give  him 
none  of  that  reverent  adoration  which  is  the 
proper  response  to  sacrifice.  And  if  the  feel- 
ings of  the  beholder  are  contrasted,  so  also  are 
the  psychological  processes  of  the  performer. 
The  man  of  culture  starts  with  a  sense  of 
defect  which  he  seeks  to  supplement ;  the 
sacrificer,  with  a  sense  of  fullness  which  he 
seeks  to  empty.  He  who  turns  to  self-culture 
says,  "I  have  progressed  thus  far.  I  have 
gained  thus  much  of  what  I  would  acquire. 
But  still  I  am  poor.  I  need  more.  Let  me 
gather  as  abundantly  as  possible  on  every 
side."  But  the  thought  of  him  who  turns  to 


SELF-SACRIFICE  175 

self-sacrifice  is,  "  I  have  been  gaining,  but  I 
only  gained  to  give.  Here  is  my  opportunity. 
Let  me  pour  out  as  largely  as  I  may."  He 
contemplates  final  impoverishment.  Accord- 
ingly I  was  obliged  to  say  in  my  definition 
that  the  self-sacrificer  seeks  to  heighten  an- 
other's possessions,  pleasures,  or  powers  at  the 
cost  of  his  own.  Undoubtedly  at  the  end  of 
the  process  he  often  finds  himself  richer  than 
at  the  beginning.  Perhaps  this  is  the  normal 
result;  but  it  is  not  contemplated.  Psycho- 
logically the  sacrificer  is  facing  in  a  different 
direction. 

X 

Yet,  though  the  motive  agencies  of  the  two 
are  thus  contrasted,  I  think  we  must  acknow- 
ledge that  sacrifice.  no  less  than  culture  is  a 

To  miss  this 


is  to  miss  its  essential  character,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  miss  the  safeguards  which  should 
protect  it  against  waste.  For  to  say,  "  I  will 
sacrifice  myself  "  is  to  leave  the  important  part 
of  the  business  unexpressed.  The  weighty 
matter  is  in  the  covert  preposition  /or,  —  "I 
will  sacrifice  myself  for."  An  approved  ob- 
ject is  aimed  at.  We  are  not  primarily  inter- 
ested in  negating  ourselves.  Only  our  estimate 


176  THE  NATUEE  OF  GOODNESS 

of  the  importance  of  the  object  justifies  our 
intended  loss.  This  object  should  accordingly 
be  scrutinized.  Self-sacrifice  is  noble  if  its 
end  is  noble,  but  becomes  reprehensible  when 
its  object  is  petty  or  undeserving.  Omit  or 
overlook  that  word  for,  and  self-sacrifice  loses 
its  exalted  character.  It  sinks  into  asceticism, 
one  of  the  most  degrading  of  moral  aberra- 
tions. In  asceticism  we  prize  self-sacrifice  for 
its  own  sake.  We  hunt  out  what  we  value 
most ;  we  judge  what  would  most  completely 
fulfill  our  needs;  and  then  we  abolish  it. 
Abolish  it  for  what?  For  nothing  but  the 
mere  sake  of  abolishing.  This  is  to  turn 
morality  upside  down;  and  in  place  of  the 
Christian  ideal  of  abounding  life,  to  set  up  the 
pessimistic  aim  of  impoverishment.  There  is 
nothing  of  this  kind  in  self-sacrifice.  Here 
we  assert  ourselves,  our  conjunct  selves.  We 
estimate  what  will  be  best  for  the  community 
of  man  and  seek  to  further  this  at  whatever 
cost  to  our  isolated  individuality.  By  this 
dedication  to  a  deserving  object  sacrifice  is 
purified,  ennobled,  and  made  strong.  We 
speak  of  the  glorious  deed  of  him  who  plunges 
into  the  water  to  save  a  child.  But  it  is  a 
foolish  and  immoral  thing  to  risk  one's  life 


SELF-SACRIFICE  177 

for  a  stone,  a  coin,  or  nothing  at  all.  "  Is  the 
object  deserving  ?  "  we  must  ask,  "  or  shall  I 
reserve  myself  for  greater  need  ?  " 

Too  easily  does  our  sympathetic  and  senti- 
mental age,  recklessly  eulogistic  of  altruism, 
hurry  into  self -sacrifice.  Altruism  in  itself  is 
worthless.  That  an  act  is  unselfish  can  never 
justify  its  performance.  He  who  would  be  a 
great  giver  must  first  be  a  great  person.  Oui 
men,  and  still  more  our  women,  need  as  ur- 
gently the  gospel  of  self -development  as  thai 
of  self -sacrifice ;  though  the  two  are  naturally/ 
supplemental.  Our  only  means  of  estimating 
the  propriety  and  dignity  of  sacrifice  is  to  in- 
quire how  closely  connected  with  ourselves  is 
its  object.  Until  we  can  justify  this  connec- 
tion, we  have  no  right  to  incur  it,  for  genuine 
sacrifice  is  always  an  act  of  self-assertion.  In 
saving  his  regiment  and  contributing  his  share 
toward  saving  his  country,  the  soldier  asserts 
his  own  interests.  He  is  a  good  soldier  in  pro- 
portion as  he  feels  these  interests  to  be  his ; 
while  the  deserter  is  condemned,  not  for  refus- 
ing to  give  his  life  to  an  alien  country  and 
regiment,  but  because  he  was  small  enough  to 
imagine  that  these  great  constituents  of  him- 
self were  alien.  I  tell  the  man  on  the  street 


178  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

the  way  home  because  I  cannot  part  his  be- 
wilderment from  my  own.  The  problem  al- 
ways is,  What  may  I  suitably  regard  as  mine  ? 
And  in  solving  it,  we  should  study  as  care- 
fully that  for  which  we  propose  to  sacrifice 
ourselves  as  anything  which  we  might  seek 
to  obtain.  Triviality  or  lack  of  permanent 
consequence  is  as  objectionable  in  the  one 
case  as  in  the  other.  The  only  safe  rule  is 
that  self-sacrifice  is  self-assertion,  is  a  judg- 
ment as  regards  what  we  would  welcome  to  be 
a  portion  of  our  conjunct  self. 

Perhaps  an  extreme  case  will  show  this  most 
clearly.  Jesus  prayed, "  Not  my  will,  but  thine, 
be  done."    He  did  not  then  lose  his  will.   He 
asserted  and  obtained  it.  For  his  will  was  that 
the  divine  will  should  be  fulfilled,  and  ful- 
filled it  was.    He  set  aside  one  form  of  his  will, 
his  private  and  isolated  will,  knowing  it  to  be 
delusive.    But  his  true  or  conjunct  will  —  and 
he  knew  it  to  be  his  true  one  —  he  abundantly 
obtained.    It  is  no  wonder,  then,  that  in  ex- 
plaining these  things  to  his  disciples  he  says, 
"  My  meat  it  is  to  do  the  will  of  my  Father." 
/That  is  always  the  language  of  genuine  self- 
(  sacrifice.    The  act  is  not  complete  until  the 
\A  sense  of  loss  has  disappeared. 


SELF-SACRIFICE  179 

XI 

Yet  while  I  hold  that  self-sacrifice  is  thus 
the  very  extreme  of  rationality,  grounding  as 
it  does  all  worth  in  the  relational  or  conjunct 
selfhood,  I  cannot  disguise  from  myself  that 
it  contains  an  element  of  tragedy  too.  This 
my  readers  will  already  have  felt  and  will 
have  begun  to  rebel  against  my  insistence  that 
self-sacrifice  is  the  fulfillment  of  our  being. 
For  though  it  is  true  that  when  opposition 
arises  between  the  conjunct  and  separate 
selves  our  largest  safety  is  with  the  former, 
the  very  fact  that  such  opposition  is  possible 
involves  tragedy.  One  part  of  the  nature  be- 
comes arrayed  against  another.  We  must  die 
to  live.  Our  lower  goods  are  found  incom- 
patible with  our  higher.  Pleasure,  comfort, 
property,  friends,  possibly  life  itself,  have  be- 
come hostile  to  our  more  inclusive  aims  and 
must  be  cast  aside.  It  is  true  that  when  the 
tragic  antithesis  is  presented  and  we  can  reach 
our  higher  goods  only  by  loss  of  the  lower, 
hesitation  is  ruin.  It  is  true  too  that  on 
account  of  that  element  of  self-assertion  to 
which  I  have  drawn  attention,  the  genuine 
sacrificer  is  ordinarily  unaware  of  any  such 


180  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

tragedy.  But  none  the  less  tragedy  is  there. 
To  suppose  it  absent  would  strip  sacrifice  of 
what  we  regard  as  most  characteristic. 

Nor  can  we  pause  here.  Those  who  would 
call  self-sacrifice  a  glorious  madness  have  still 
further  justification.  A  leap  into  the  dark  we 
must  at  least  admit  it  to  be.  For  trace  it 
rationally  as  far  as  we  may,  there  always  re- 
mains uncertainty  at  the  close.  There  is,  for 
example,  uncertainty  about  ultimate  results. 
The  mother  toiling  for  her  child,  and  neglect- 
ing for  its  sake  most  of  what  would  render  her 
own  life  rich,  can  never  know  that  this  child 
will  grow  up  to  power.  The  day  may  come 
when  she  will  wish  it  had  died  in  childhood. 
The  glory  of  her  action  is  bound  up  with  this 
darkness.  Were  the  soldier,  marching  to  the 
field,  sure  that  his  side  would  be  victorious,  he 
would  be  only  half  a  hero.  The  consequences 
of  self-sacrifice  can  never  be  certain,  foreseen, 
calculable.  There  must  be  risk.  Omit  it,  and 
the  sacrifice  disappears.  Indeed  nothing  in  life 
which  calls  forth  high  admiration  is  free  from 
this  touch  of  faith  and  courage,  this  move- 
ment into  the  unknown.  It  is  at  the  very  heart 
of  self-sacrifice. 

But  besides  the  unknown  character  of  the 


SELF-SACRIFICE  181 

result  there  is  usually  uncertainty  as  regards 
the  cost.  The  sacrificer  does  not  give  accord- 
ing to  measure.  I  do  not  say  I  will  attend  to 
this  sick  person  up  to  such  and  such  a  point, 
but  when  that  point  is  reached  I  shall  have 
done  enough.  This  would  hardly  be  self-sac- 
rifice. I  rather  say,  "  Here  I  am.  Take  me, 
use  me  to  the  full,  spend  of  me  whatever  you 
need.  How  much  that  will  be,  I  do  not  know." 
So  there  is  an  element  of  darkness  in  our- 
selves. 

And  possibly  I  ought  to  mention  a  third 
variety  of  these  incalculabilities  of  sacrifice. 
We  do  not  plan  the  case.  A  while  ago,  meet- 
ing a  h'terary  man  whose  product  is  of  much 
consequence  to  the  community  and  himself, 
I  asked  him  how  his  book  was  coming  on. 
"  Badly,"  he  answered.  "  Just  now  an  aged 
relative  has  fallen  ill.  There  is  no  other  place 
where  she  can  be  properly  disposed,  and  so 
she  has  been  brought  to  my  house.  I  must 
care  for  her,  my  home  will  be  much  broken 
up,  and  my  work  must  be  set  aside."  I  said, 
"  Is  that  your  duty  ?  Have  you  not  a  more 
important  obligation  to  your  book  ?  "  But 
he  answered,  "  One  cannot  choose  a  duty." 
I  did  not  fully  agree.  I  think  we  should 


182  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

carefully  weigh  duties,  even  if  we  do  not 
choose  them.  Morality  would  otherwise  be- 
come the  sport  of  accident.  But  I  perceive 
that  in  the  last  analysis  no  duty  is  made  by 
ourselves.  It  is  given  us  by  something  more 
authoritative  than  we,  something  which  we 
cannot  alter,  fully  estimate,  or  without  dam- 
age evade.  Necessity  is  laid  upon  us,  some- 
times an  invading  necessity.  We  are  walking 
our  well-ordered  path,  pursuing  some  dear 
aims,  when  harsh  before  us  stands  a  waiting 
duty,  bidding  us  lay  aside  that  in  which  we 
are  engaged  and  take  it.  I  have  said  I  be- 
lieve a  degree  of  scrutiny  is  needful  here.  We 
should  ask,  what  for  ?  We  should  correlate 
the  new  duty  with  those  already  pledged. 
And  probably  an  interrupting  duty  is  less 
often  the  one  it  is  well  to  follow  than  one 
which  has  had  something  of  our  time  and 
care.  Few  fresh  calls  can  have  the  weighty 
claim  of  loyalty  to  obligation  already  incurred. 
But,  after  all,  that  on  which  we  finally  decide 
has  not  sprung  from  our  own  wishes.  It  sub- 
jects those  wishes  to  itself.  Standing  over 
against  us,  it  summons  us  to  do  its  bidding, 
and  allows  us  no  more  to  be  our  own  self- 
directed  masters. 


SELF-SACRIFICE  183 

XII 

Summing  up,  then,  the  jarring  character- 
istics of  self-sacrifice,  —  its  frequency,  ration- 
ality, assertiveness,  nearness  to  self-culture; 
yes,  and  its  darker  traits  of  risk,  immeasura- 
bility, and  authoritativeness,  —  does  it  not  be- 
gin to  appear  that  I  have  been  calling  it  by 
a  wrong  name?  Self-sacrifice  is  a  negative 
term.  It  lays  stress  on  the  thought  that  I  set 
myself  aside,  become  in  some  way  less  than  I 
was  before.  And  no  doubt  through  all  this 
intricate  discussion  certain  belittlements  have 
been  acknowledged,  though  these  have  also 
been  shown  to  lie  along  the  path  of  largeness. 
There  are,  therefore,  in  self-sacrifice  both 
negative  and  positive  elements.  But  why 
select  its  name  from  the  subordinate  part? 
Why  turn  to  the  front  its  incidental  nega- 
tions? This  is  topsy-turvy  nomenclature. 
Better  blot  the  word  self-sacrifice  from  our 
dictionaries.  Devotion,  service,  love,  dedication 
to  a  cause,  —  these  words  mark  its  real  nature 
and  are  the  only  descriptions  of  it  which 
its  practicers  will  recognize.  That  damage  to 
the  abstract  self  which  chiefly  impresses  the 
outsider  is  something  of  which  the  sacrificer 


184  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

is  hardly  aware.  How  exquisitely  astonished 
are  the  men  in  the  parable  when  called  to  re- 
ceive reward  for  their  generous  gifts !  "  Lord, 
when  saw  we  thee  an  hungred  and  fed  thee, 
or  thirsty  and  gave  thee  drink  ?  When  saw 
we  thee  sick  or  in  prison  and  came  unto 
thee?"  They  thought  they  had  only  been 
following  their  own  desires. 

Perhaps  the  most  admirable  case  of  self- 
sacrifice  is  that  in  which  no  single  person 
appears  who  is  profited  by  our  loss.  The 
scholar,  the  artist,  the  scientific  man  dedi- 
cate themselves  to  the  interests  of  undiffer- 
entiated  humanity.  They  serve  their  undeci- 
pherable race,  not  knowing  who  will  obtain 
gains  through  their  toils.  In  their  sublime 
benefactions  they  study  the  wants  of  no  indi- 
vidual person,  not  even  of  themselves.  Yet, 
turn  to  a  man  of  this  type  and  try  to  call  his 
attention  to  the  privations  he  endures,  and 
what  will  be  his  answer  ?  "I  have  no  coat ? 
I  have  no  dinner  ?  I  have  little  money  ? 
People  do  not  honor  me  as  they  honor  others  ? 
Yes,  I  believe  I  lack  these  trifles.  But  think 
what  I  possess  !  This  great  subject ;  or  ra- 
ther, it  possesses  me.  And  it  shall  have  of 
me  whatever  it  requires." 


SELF-SACRIFICE  185 

In  such  service  of  the  absolute  is  found 
the  highest  expression  of  self-sacrifice,  of  so- 
cial service,  of  self-realization.  The  doctrine 
that  through  union  with  a  reason  and  right- 
eousness not  exclusively  our  own  each  of  us 
may  hourly  be  renewed  is  the  very  heart  of 

ethics. 

XIII 

I  have  attempted  to  cut  out  a  clear  path 
through  an  ethical  jungle  overgrown  with  the 
exuberance  of  human  life.  I  have  not  suc- 
ceeded, and  it  is  probably  impossible  to  suc- 
ceed. In  the  subject  itself  there  is  paradox. 
Conflicting  elements  enter  into  the  very  con- 
stitution of  a  person.  To  trace  them  even 
imperfectly  one  must  be  patient  of  refine- 
ments, accessible  to  qualifications,  and  ever 
ready  to  admit  the  opposite  of  what  has  been 
laboriously  established.  We  all  desire  through 
study  to  win  a  swift  simplicity.  But  na- 
ture abhors  simplicity  :  she  complicates  ;  she 
forces  those  who  would  know  to  take  pains, 
to  proceed  cautiously,  and  to  feel  their  way 
along  from  point  to  point.  This  I  have  tried 
to  do  ;  and  I  believe  that  the  inquiry,  though 
intricate,  primarily  scientific,  and  only  par- 
tially successful,  need  not  altogether  lack 


186  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

practical  consequence.  Our  age  is  bewildered 
between  heroism  and  greed.  To  each  it 
is  drawn  more  powerfully  than  any  age  pre- 
ceding. Neither  of  the  two  does  it  quite 
comprehend.  If  we  can  render  the  nobler 
somewhat  more  intelligible,  we  may  increase 
the  confidence  of  those  who  now,  half -ashamed, 
follow  its  glorious  but  blindly  compulsive 
call. 


REFERENCES    ON    SELF-SACRIFICE 

Spencer's  Principles  of  Ethics,  pt.  i.  ch.  xi.,  xii. 

Bradley's  Appearance  and  Reality,  p.  414-429. 

Faulsen's  Ethics,  bk.  ii.  ch.  6. 

Wundt's  Facts  of  the  Moral  Life,  ch.  iii.,  §  4  (g). 

Sidgwick's  Methods,  concluding  chapter. 

Kidd's  Social  Evolution,  ch.  5. 

S.  Bryant  in  Journal  of  Ethics,  Apr.  1893. 

Bradley  in  Journal  of  Ethics,  Oct.  1894. 

Mackenzie,  in  Journal  of  Ethics,  Apr.  1895. 


vn 

NATURE  AND  SPIRIT 


VII 

NATURE  AND    SPIRIT 


.       . 

AT  this  culmination  of  our  long  discussion, 
a  discussion  much  confused  by  its  necessary 
mass  of  details,  it  may  be  well  to  pause  a 
moment,  to  fix  attention  on  the  great  lines 
along  which  we  have  been  moving,  and  to 
mark  the  points  on  which  they  appear  to  con- 
verge. We  have  regarded  goodness  as  di- 
vided into  two  very  unequal  parts.  The  first 
two  chapters  treated  of  goodness  in  general, 
a  species  which  being  shared  alike  by  persons 
and  things  is  in  no  sense  distinctive  of  per- 
sons. The  last  four  chapters  have  been  given 
to  the  more  complex  task  of  exploring  the 
goodness  of  persons. 

In  things  we  found  that  goodness  consists 
in  having  their  manifold  parts  drawn  into 
integral  wholeness.  And  this  is  true  also  of 
persons.  But  the  modes  of  organization  in 


192  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

the  two  cases  were  so  unlike  as  to  require 
long  elucidation.  Our  conclusion  would  seen^ 
to  be  that  while  goodness  is  everywhere  ex-l 
pressive  of  organization,  personal  conduct  is 
good  only  when  consciously  organized,  guided, 
and  aimed  at  the  development  of  a  social  self. 
We  have  seen  how  self-consciousness  lies  at 
the  foundation  of  personality,  sharply  dis- 
criminating persons  from  things.  We  have 
seen,  too  that  wherever  it  is  present,  the  per- 
son curiously  directs  himself,  passing  through 
all  the  varieties  of  purposive  activity  which 
were  catalogued  in  the  chapter  on  self-direc- 
tion. But  such  activity  implies  a  being  of 
variable,  not  of  fixed  powers,  a  being  accord- 
ingly capable  of  enlargement,  and  with  possi- 
bilities in  him  which  every  moment  renders 
real.  This  progressive  realization  of  himself, 
this  development,  he  —  so  far  as  he  is  good 
— consciously  conducts.  And  finally  we  found 
in  the  person  the  strange  fact  that  he  con- 
ceives of  his  good  self  as  essentially  in  con- 
junction with  his  fellow  man,  and  recognizes 
that  parted  off  and  in  separate  abstractness 
he  is  no  person  at  all.  Accordingly  personal 
goodness  must  everywhere  express  conscious 
organization,  direction,  enlargement,  conjunc-\ 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  193 

V  tion.  Under  our  analysis  two  antithetic  worlds 
1  emerge,  a  world  of  nature  and  of  spirit,  the 
former  guided  by  blind  forces,  the  latter  self- 
managed.  Unlike  spiritual  beings,  natural 
objects  are  under  alien  control ;  have  not  the 
power  of  development,  and  when  brought  into 
close  conjunction  with  others  are  liable  to  dis- 
ruption. 

H 

Accepting  this  vital  distinction,  we  see  that 
the  work  of  spiritual  man  will  consist  in  pro- 
gressively subjugating  whatever  natural  pow- 
ers he  finds  within  him  and  without,  rendering 
them  all  expressive  of  self-conscious  purpose. 
For  we  men  are  not  altogether  spiritual ;  in 
us  two  elements  meet.  Our  spirituality  is 
superposed  on  a  natural  basis.  Like  things, 
we  have  our  natural  aptitudes,  blind  tenden- 
cies, established  functions  of  body  and  mind. 
These  are  all  serviceable  and  organic ;  but  to 
become  spiritual  all  need  to  be  redeemed,  or 
drawn  over  into  the  field  of  consciousness, 
where  our  special  stamp  may  be  set  upon 
them.  When  we  speak  of  a  good  act,  we 
mean  an  act  which  shows  the  results  of  such 
redemption,  one  whose  every  part  has  been 
studied  in  relation  to  every  other  part,  and 


194  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

\  has  thus  been  made  to  bear  our  own  image 

\  and  superscription. 

And  this  is  essentially  the  Christian  ideal, 
that  spirit  shall  be  lord  of  nature.  I  ought 
to  reject  my  natural  life,  accounting  it  not 
my  life  at  all.  Until  shaped  by  myself,  it  is 
merely  my  opportunity  for  life,  material  fur- 
nished, out  of  which  my  true  and  conscious 
life  may  be  constructed.  Widely  is  this  con- 
trasted with  the  pagan  conceptions,  where  man 
appears  with  powers  as  fixed  as  the  things 
around  him.  Indeed,  in  many  forms  of  pa- 
ganism there  is  no  distinction  between  per- 
sons and  things.  They  are  blended.  And 
such  blending  usually  operates  to  the  dispar- 
agement of  the  person ;  for  things  being  more 
numerous,  and  their  laws  more  urgent,  the 
powers  of  man  become  lost  in  those  of  nature. 
Or  if  distinction  is  made,  and  men  hi  some 
dim  fashion  become  aware  that  they  are  dif- 
ferent from  things,  still  it  is  the  tendency 
of  paganism  to  subordinate  person  to  nature. 
The  child  is  sacrificed  to  the  sun.  The  sun 
is  not  thought  of  as  existing  for  the  child. 
From  the  Christian  point  of  view  everything 
seems  turned  upside  down.  Man  is  absorbed 
in  natural  forces,  natural  forces  are  rever- 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  195 

enced  as  divine,  and  self -consciousness  —  if 
noticed  at  all  —  is  regarded  as  an  impertinent 
accident. 

In  the  Christian  ideal  all  this  is  reversed. 
Man  is  called  to  be  master  of  himself,  and 
therefore  of  all  else.  The  many  beautiful 
adjustments  of  the  natural  world  are  thought 
to  possess  dignity  only  so  far  as  they  accept 
the  conscious  purposes  put  by  us  in  their 
keeping.  And  in  man  himself  goodness  is 
held  to  exist  only  in  proportion  as  his  conduct 
expresses  fullness  of  self -consciousness,  full- 
ness of  direction,  and  fullness  of  conscious 
conjunction  with  other  persons.  I  do  not  see 
how  we  can  escape  this  conclusion.  The  care- 
ful argumentation  through  which  the  previous 
chapters  have  brought  us  obliges  us  to  count 
conduct  valuable  in  proportion  as  it  bears  the 
impress  of  self-conscious  mind. 

Ill 

Yet  it  must  be  owned  that  during  the  last 
few  centuries  doubts  have  arisen  about  the 
justice  of  this  Christian  ideal.  The  simple 
conception  of  a  world  of  spirit  and  a  world 
of  nature  arrayed  against  each  other,  the  one 
of  them  exactly  what  the  other  is  not,  the 


196  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

world  of  spirit  the  superior,  the  world  of 
nature  to  be  frowned  on,  used  possibly,  but 
always  in  subordination  to  spiritual  purposes, 
—  this  view,  dominant  as  it  was  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  still  largely  influential,  has  been 
steadily  falling  into  disrepute.  There  is  even' 
a  tendency  in  present  estimates  to  reverse 
the  ancient  valuation  and  allow  superiority  toi 
nature.  Such  a  transformation  is  strikingly 
evident  in  those  sensitive  recorders  of  human 
ideals,  the  Fine  Arts.  Let  us  see  what  at  dif- 
ferent times  they  have  judged  best  worthy  of 
record. 

Early  painting  dealt  with  man  alone,  or 
rather  with  persons;  for  personality  in  its 
transcendent  forms — saints,  angels,  God  him- 
self —  was  usually  preferred  above  little  man. 
Except  the  spiritual,  nothing  was  regarded  as 
of  consequence.  The  principle  of  early  paint- 
ing might  be  summed  in  the  proud  saying, 
"  On  earth  there  is  nothing  great  but  man  ;  in 
man  there  is  nothing  great  but  mind."  It  is 
true  when  man  is  thus  detached  from  nature 
he  hardly  appears  to  advantage  or  in  his  ap- 
propriate setting.  But  the  early  painters  would 
tolerate  nothing  natural  near  their  splendid 
persons.  They  covered  their  backgrounds 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  197 

with  gilding,  so  that  a  glory  surrounded  the 
entire  figure,  throwing  out  the  personality 
sharp  and  strong.  Nothing  broke  its  effect. 
But  after  all,  one  comes  to  see  that  we  inhabit 
a  world  ;  nature  is  continually  about  us,  and 
man  really  shows  his  eminence  most  fully 
when  standing  dominant  over  nature.  Early 
painting,  accordingly,  began  to  set  in  a  little 
landscape  around  the  human  figures,  contrast- 
ing the  person  with  that  which  was  not  him- 
self. But  an  independent  interest  could  not 
fail  to  spring  up  in  these  accessories.  By 
degrees  the  landscape  is  elaborated  and  the 
figure  subordinated.  The  figure  is  there  by 
prescription,  the  landscape  because  people 
enjoy  it.  Nature  begins  to  assert  her  claims  ; 
and  man,  the  eminent  and  worthy  represen- 
tative of  old  ideals,  retires  from  his  ancient 
prominence. 

When  the  Renaissance  revolted  against  the 
teachings  of  the  mediaeval  church,  the  dispo- 
sition to  return  to  nature  was  insolently  strong. 
Natural  impulses  were  glorified,  the  physical 
world  attracted  attention,  and  even  began  to  be 
studied.  Hitherto  it  had  been  thought  deserv- 
ing of  study  only  because  in  a  few  respects  it 
was  able  to  minister  to  man.  But  in  the  Re- 


198  THE  NATUEE  OF  GOODNESS 

naissance  men  studied  it  for  its  own  sake.  Grad- 
ually the  distinction  between  man  and  nature 
grew  faint,  so  that  a  kind  of  pantheism  arose 
in  which  a  general  power,  at  once  natural  and 
spiritual,  appeared  as  the  ruler  of  all.  We  in- 
dividual men  emerge  for  a  moment  from  this 
great  central  power,  ultimately  relapsing  into 
it.  Nature  had  acquired  coordinate,  if  not  su- 
perior, rights.  Yet  the  full  expression  of  this 
independent  interest  in  nature  is  more  recent 
than  is  usually  observed.  Landscape  paintingj 
goes  back  but  little  beyond  the  year  sixteen 
hundred.  It  is  only  two  or  three  centuries  ago 
that  painters  discovered  the  physical  world 
to  be  worthy  of  representation  for  its  own 
sake. 

As  the  worth  of  nature  thus  became  vin- 
dicated in  painting,  parallel  changes  were 
wrought  in  the  other  arts.  Arts  less  distinctly 
rational  began  to  assert  themselves,  and  even 
to  take  the  lead.  The  art  most  characteristic 
of  modern  tunes,  the  one  which  most  widely 
and  poignantly  appeals  to  us,  is  music.  But 
in  music  we  are  not  distinctly  conscious  of  a 
meaning.  Most  of  us  in  listening  to  music 
forget  ourselves  under  its  lulling  charms,  aban- 
don ourselves  to  its  spell,  and  by  it  are  swept 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  199 

away,  perhaps  to  the  infinite,  perhaps  to  an  ob- 
literation of  all  clear  thought.  Is  it  not  largely 
because  we  are  so  hard  pressed  under  the  anx-j 
ious  conditions  of  modern  life  that  music  be4 
comes  such  an  enormous  solace  and  strength  ?| 
I  do  not  say  that  no  other  factors  have  con- 
tributed to  the  vogue  of  music,  but  certainly 
it  is  widely  prized  as  an  effective  means  of  es- 
cape from  ourselves.  Music  too,  though  early 
known  in  calm  and  elementary  forms,  has 
within  the  last  two  centuries  been  developed 
into  almost  a  new  art. 

Of  all  the  arts  poetry  is  the  most  strikingly 
rational  and  articulate.  Its  material  is  plain 
thought,  plain  words.  We  employ  in  it  the 
apparatus  of  conscious  life.  Poetry  was  there- 
fore concerned  in  early  times  entirely  with 
things  of  the  spirit.  It  dealt  with  persons, 
and  with  them  alone.  It  celebrated  epic  ac- 
tions, recorded  sagacious  judgments,  or  uttered 
in  lyric  song  emotions  primarily  felt  by  an 
individual,  yet  interpreting  the  common  lot  of 
man.  But  there  has  occurred  a  great  change 
in  poetry  too,  a  change  notable  during  the  last 
century  but  initiated  long  before.  Poetry 
has  been  growing  naturalistic,  and  is  to-day 
disposed  to  reject  all  severance  of  body  and 


200  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

spirit.  The  great  nature  movement  which  we 
associate  with  the  names  of  Cowper,  Burns, 
and  Wordsworth,  has  withdrawn  man's  atten- 
tion from  conscious  responsibility,  and  has 
taught  him  to  adore  blind  and  vast  forces 
which  he  cannot  fully  comprehend.  We  all 
know  the  refreshment  and  the  deepening  of 
lif  e  which  this  mystic  new  poetry  has  brought. 
But  it  is  hard  to  say  whether  poetry  is  nowa- 
days a  spiritual  or  a  natural  art.  Many  of 
us  would  incline  to  the  latter  view,  and  would 
hold  that  even  in  dealing  with  persons  it  treats 
them  as  embodiments  of  natural  forces.  Our 
instincts  and  unguided  passions,  the  features 
which  most  identify  us  with  the  physical  world, 
are  coming  more  and  more  to  be  the  subjects 
of  modern  poetry. 

IV 

Nature,  meanwhile,  that  part  of  the  universe 
which  is  not  consciously  guided,  has  become 
within  a  century  our  favorite  field  of  scientific 
study.  The  very  word  science  is  popularly 
appropriated  to  naturalistic  investigation.  Of 
course  this  is  a  perversion.  Originally  it  was 
believed  that  the  proper  study  of  mankind 
was  man.  And  probably  we  should  all  still 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  201 

acknowledge  that  the  study  of  personal  struc- 
ture is  as  truly  science  as  study  of  the  struc- 
ture of  physical  objects.  Yet  so  powerfully  is 
the  tide  setting  toward  reverence  for  the  un- 
conscious and  the  sub-conscious  that  science, 
our  word  for  knowledge,  has  lost  its  univer- 
sality and  has  taken  on  an  almost  exclusively 
physical  character. 

Perhaps  there  was  only  one  farther  step 
possible.  Philosophy  itself,  the  study  of 
mind,  might  be  regarded  as  a  study  of  the 
unconscious.  And  this  step  has  been  taken. 
Books  now  bear  the  paradoxical  title  t(  Philo- 
sophy of  the  Unconscious,"  and  investigation 
of  the  sub-conscious  processes  is  perhaps  the 
most  distinctive  trait  of  philosophy  to-day. 
More  and  more  it  is  believed  that  we  cannot 
adequately  explore  a  person  without  probing 
beneath  consciousness.  The  blind  processes 
can  no  longer  be  ruled  out.  Nature  and 
spirit  cannot  be  parted  as  our  fathers  supposed 
they  might.  Probably  Kant  is  the  last  great 
scholar  who  will  ever  try  to  hold  that  distinc- 
tion firm,  and  he  is  hardly  successful.  In 
spite  of  his  vigorous  antitheses,  hints  of  covert 
connection  between  the  opposed  forces  are 
not  absent.  Indeed,  if  the  two  are  so  widely 


202  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

parted  as  his  usual  language  asserts,  it  is  hard 
to  see  how  his  ethics  can  have  mundane  worth. 
Curiously  enough  too,  at  the  very  time  when 
Kant  was  reviving  this  ancient  distinction, 
and  offering  it  as  the  solid  basis  of  personal 
and  social  life,  the  opposite  belief  received 
its  most  clamorous  announcement,  resounding 
through  the  civilized  world  in  the  teachings 
of  Rousseau.  Rousseau  warns  us  that  the 
conscious  constructions  of  man  are  full  of 
artifice  and  deceit,  and  lead  to  corruption 
and  pain.  Conscious  guidance  should,  conse- 
quently, be  banished,  and  man  should  return 
to  the  peace,  the  ease,  and  the  certainty  of 

nature. 

V 

Now  I  do  not  think  it  is  worth  while  to  blame 
or  praise  a  movement  so  vast  as  this.  If  it 
is  folly  to  draw  an  indictment  against  a  na- 
tion, it  is  greater  folly  to  indict  all  modern 
civilization.  We  must  not  say  that  philosophy 
and  the  fine  arts  took  a  wrong  turn  at  the 
Renaissance,  —  at  least  it  is  useless  to  call  on 
them  now  to  turn  back.  The  world  seldom 
turns  back.  It  absorbs,  it  re-creates,  it  brings 
new  significance  into  the  older  thought.  All 
progress,  Goethe  tells  us,  is  spiral,  —  coming 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  203 

out  at  the  place  where  it  was  before,  but 
higher  up.  No,  we  cannot  wisely  blame  or 
praise,  but  we  may  patiently  study  and  under- 
stand. That  is  what  I  am  attempting  to  do 
here.  The  movement  described  is  no  neg- 
ligible accident  of  our  time.  It  is  world-wide, 
and  shows  progress  steadily  in  a  single  di- 
rection. 

In  order,  however,  to  prove  that  such  a  change 
in  moral  estimates  has  occurred,  it  was  hardly 
necessary  to  survey  the  course  of  history. 
The  evidence  lies  close  around  us,  and  is  found 
in  the  standards  of  the  society  in  which  we 
move.  Who  are  the  people  most  prized  ? 
Are  they  the  most  self-conscious  ?  That 
should  be  the  case  if  our  long  argument  is 
sound.  Our  preceding  chapters  would  urge 
us  to  fill  life  with  consciousness.  In  pro- 
portion as  consciousness  droops,  human  good- 
ness becomes  meagre ;  as  our  acts  are  filled 
with  it,  they  grow  excellent.  These  are  our 
theoretic  conclusions,  but  the  experience  of 
daily  life  does  not  bear  them  out.  If,  for  ex- 
ample, I  find  the  person  who  is  talking  to  me 
watches  each  word  he  utters,  pauses  again  and 
again  for  correction,  choosing  the  determined 
word  and  rejecting  the  one  which  instmc- 


0UJL 


"t&uu 


204 


TRE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 


w 


tively  comes  to  his  lips,  I  do  not  trust 
what  he  says,  or  even  listen  to  it  ;  while  he  is 
shaping  his  exact  sentences  I  attend  to  some- 
thing else.  In  general,  if  a  man's  small 
actions  impress  us  as  minutely  planned,  we 
turn  from  him.  It  is  not  the  self-reflecting 
persons,  cautious  of  all  they  do,  say,  or  think, 
who  are  popular.  It  is  rather  those  instinc- 
tively spontaneous  creatures  characterized  by 
abandon  —  men  and  women  who  let  themselves' 
go,  and  with  all  the  wealth  of  the  world  i 

them,  allow  it  to  come  out  of  itself  —  that  w 

7 

take  to  our  hearts.  We  prize  them  for  theii 
want  of  deliberation.  In  short,  we  give  oui 
unbiased  endorsement  not  to  the  spiritual 
consciously  guided  person,  but  to  him,  on  the 
contrary,  who  shows  the  closest  adjustment  to 
nature. 


VI 

Yet  even  so,  we  have  gone  too  far  afield  for 
evidence.  First  we  surveyed  the  ages,  then 
we  surveyed  one  another.  But  there  is  one 
proof-spot  nearer  still.  Let  us  survey  our- 
selves. I  am  much  mistaken  if  there  are  not 
among  my  readers  persons  who  have  aU  their 
lives  suffered  from  self-consciousness.  They 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  205 

have  longed  to  be  rid  of  it,  to  be  free  to  think 
of  the  other  person,  of  the  matter  in  hand. 
Instead  of  this,  their  thoughts  are  forever  re- 
verting to  their  own  share  in  any  affair.  Too 
contemptible  to  be  avowed,  and  more  distress- 
ing than  almost  any  other  species  of  suffering, 
excessive  self-consciousness  shames  us  with 
our  selfishness,  yet  will  not  allow  us  to  turn 
from  it.  When  I  go  into  company  where 
everybody  is  spontaneous  and  free,  easily 
uttering  what  the  occasion  calls  for,  I  can 
utter  only  what  I  call  for  and  not  at  all  what 
the  occasion  asks.  Between  the  two  demands 
there  is  always  an  awkward  jar.  When  tor- 
tured by  such  experiences  it  does  not  soothes 
to  have  others  carelessly  remark,  "  Oh,  just  be 
natural !  "  That  is  precisely  what  we  should 
like  to  be,  but  how?  That  little  point  isj 
continually  left  unexplained.  Yet  obviously 
self-consciousness  involves  something  like  a 
deadlock.  For  how  can  one  consciously  exertj 
himself  to  be  unconscious  and  try  not  to  try  ? 
We  cannot  arrange  our  lives  so  as  to  have  no 
arrangement  in  them,  and  when  shaking  hands 
with  a  friend,  for  example,  be  on  our  guard, 
against  noticing.  Once  locked  up  in  this] 
vicious  circle,  we  seem  destined  to  be  prison- 


o 


206 }  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

vJ->7 

ers  forever.  That  is  what  constitutes  the  an- 
guish of  the  situation.  The  most  tyrannical 
of  jailers  —  one's  self  —  is  over  us,  and  from 
his  bondage  we  are  powerless  to  escape.  The 
trouble  is  by  no  means  peculiar  to  our  time, 
though  probably  commoner  forty  years  ago 
than  at  any  other  period  of  the  world's  history. 
But  it  had  already  attracted  the  attention  of 
Shakespere,  who  bases  on  it  one  of  his  great- 
est plays.  When  Hamlet  would  act,  self-con- 
sciousness stands  in  his  way.  The  hindering 
process  is  described  in  the  famous  soliloquy 
with  astonishing  precision  and  vividness,  if 
only  we  substitute  our  modern  term  "  self- 
consciousness  "  for  that  which  was  its  ancient 
equivalent :  — 

"  Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all ; 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought ; 
And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment 
With  this  regard  their  currents  turn  awry, 
And  lose  the  name  of  action." 

And  such  is  our  experience.  We,  too,  have 
purposed  all  manner  of  important  and  service- 
able acts ;  but  just  as  we  were  setting  them  in 
execution,  consideration  fell  upon  us.  We 
asked  whether  it  was  the  proper  moment, 
whether  he  to  whom  it  was  to  be  done  was 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  207 

really  needy,  or  were  we  the  fit  doer,  or  should 
it  be  done  in  this  way  or  that.  We  hesitated, 
and  the  moment  was  gone.  Self -consciousness 
had  again  demonstrated  its  incompetence  for 
superintending  a  task.  Many  of  us,  far  from1 
regarding  self-consciousness  as  a  ground  of 
goodness,  are  disposed  to  look  upon  it  as  a 
curse. 

vn 

Before,  however,  attempting  to  discover 
whether  our  theoretic  conclusions  may  be 
drawn  into  some  sort  of  living  accord  with 
these  results  of  experience,  let  us  probe  a  little 
more  minutely  into  these  latter,  and  try  to  learn 
what  reasons  there  may  be  for  this  very  gen- 
eral distrust  of  self-consciousness  as  a  guide. 
Hitherto  I  have  exhibited  that  distrust  as  a 
fact.  We  always  find  it  so ;  our  neighbors 
find  it  so,  the  ages  have  found  it  so.  But 
why?  I  have  not  pointed  out  precisely  the 
reasons  for  the  continual  fact.  Let  me  de- 
vote a  page  or  two  to  rational  diagnosis. 

To  begin  with,  I  suppose  it  will  be  conceded 
that  we  really  cannot  guide  ourselves  through 
and  through.  There  are  certain  large  tracts 
of  life  totally  unamenable  to  consciousness. 


208  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

Of  our  two  most  important  acts,  and  those  by 
which  the  remaining  ones  are  principally  af- 
fected, birth  and  death,  the  one  is  necessarily 
removed  from  conscious  guidance,  and  the 
other  is  universally  condemned  if  so  guided. 
We  do  not  —  as  we  have  previously  seen  — 
happen  to  be  present  at  our  birth,  and  so  are 
quite  cut  off  from  controlling  that.  Yet  the 
conditions  of  birth  very  considerably  shape 
everything  else  in  life.  We  cannot,  then,  be 
purely  spiritual ;  it  is  impossible.  We  must  be 
natural  beings  at  our  beginning ;  and  at  the 
other  end  the  state  of  things  is  largely  similar, 
for  we  are  not  allowed  to  fix  the  time  of  our 
departure.  The  Stoics  were.  "  If  the  house 
smokes,"  they  said,  "  leave  it."  When  life  is 
no  longer  worth  while,  depart.  But  Chris- 
tianity will  not  allow  this.  Death  must  be  a 
natural  .affair,  not  a  spiritual.  I  am  to  wait 
till  a  wandering  bacillus  alights  in  my  lung. 
He  will  provide  a  suitable  exit  for  me.  But 
neither  I  nor  my  neighbors  must  decide  my 
departure.  Let  Jaws  oi-natm^  rp"i°rn- 

And  if  these  two  tremendous  events  are 
altogether  removed  from  conscious  guidance, 
many  others  are  but  slightly  amenable  to  it. 
The  great  organic  processes  both  of  mind  and 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  209 

body  are  only  indirectly,  or  to  a  partial  ex- 
tent, under  the  control  of  consciousness.  A 
few  persons,  I  believe,  can  voluntarily  suspend 
the  beating  of  their  hearts.  They  are  hardly 
to  be  envied.  The  majority  of  us  let  our 
hearts  alone,  and  they  work  better  than  if  we 
tried  to  work  them.  Though  it  is  true  that 
we  can  control  our  breathing,  and  that  we  oc- 
casionally do  so,  this  also  in  general  we  wisely 
leave  to  natural  processes.  A  similar  state  of 
affairs  we  find  when  we  turn  to  the  mind 
itself.  The  association  of  ideas,  that  curious 
process  by  which  one  thought  sticks  to  another 
and  through  being  thus  linked  draws  after  it 
material  for  use  in  all  our  intellectual  con- 
structions, goes  on  for  the  most  part  unguided. 
It  would  be  plainly  useless,  therefore,  to  treat 
our  great  distinction  as  something  hard  and 
fast.  Nature  and  spirit  may  be  contrasted  'J 
they  cannot  be  sundered.  Spirit  removed! 
from  nature  would  become  impotent,  while  \ 
nature  would  then  proceed  on  a  meaningless  \ 
career. 

Then  too  there  are  all  sorts  of  degrees  in 
consciousness.  No  man  was  ever  so  conscious 
of  himself  and  his  acts  that  he  could  not  be 
more  so.  When  introspection  is  causing  us  our 


210  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

sharpest  distress,  it  may  still  be  rendered  more 
minute.  That  is  one  cause  of  its  peculiar 
anguish.  We  are  always  uncertain  whether 
our  troubles  have  not  arisen  from  too  little 
self-consciousness,  and  we  whip  ourselves  into 
greater  nicety  and  elaborateness  of  personal 
observation.  Varying  through  a  multitude 
of  degrees,  the  fullness  of  consciousness  is 
never  reached.  A  more  thorough  exercise 
of  it  is  always  possible.  At  the  last,  nature 
must  be  admitted  as  a  partner  in  the  control 
of  our  lives,  and  her  share  in  that  partner- 
ship the  present  age  believes  to  be  a  large 
one. 

VIII 

For  could  we  always  consciously  steer  our 
conduct,  we  should  be  unwise  to  do  so.  Con- 
sciousness hinders  action.  Acts  are  excel- 
lent in  proportion  as  they  are  sure,  swift,  and 
easy.  When  we  undertake  anything,  we  seek 
to  do  exactly  that  thing,  reach  precisely  that 
end,  and  not  merely  to  hit  something  in 
the  neighborhood.  Occasions,  too,  run  fast, 
and  should  be  seized  on  the  minute.  Action 
is  excellent  only  when  it  meets  the  urgent 

and  evasive  demands  of  life.     Faltering  and 

*  '  "      *«  ..  n* 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  211 

hesitation  are  fatal.  Nor  must  action  unduly 
weary.  Good  conduct  effects  its  results  with 
the  least  necessary  expenditure  of  effort. 
When  there  are  so  many  demands  pressing 
upon  us,  we  should  not  allow  ourselves  to  be- 
come exhausted  by  a  single  act,  but  should 
keep  ourselves  fresh  for  further  needs.  Effi- 
cient action,  then,  is  sure,  swift,  and  easy. 

Now  the  peculiarity  of  self-consciousness  is 
that  it  hinders  all  this  and  makes  action  inac- 
curate, slow,  and  fatiguing.  Inaccuracy  is  al- 
most certain.  When  we  study  how  something 
is  to  be  done,  we  are  apt  to  lay  stress  on  cer- 
tain features  of  the  situation,  and  not  to  bring 
others  into  due  prominence.  It  is  difficult 
separately  to  correlate  the  many  elements 
which  go  to  make  up  a  desired  result.  Some- 
times we  become  altogether  puzzled  and  for 
the  moment  the  action  ceases.  When  I  have, 
had  occasion  to  drive  a  screw  in  some  unusual 
and  inconvenient  place,  after  setting  the  blade; 
of  the  screw-driver  into  the  slot  I  have  asked 
myself,  "  In  which  direction  does  this  screw 
turn  ?  "  But  the  longer  I  ask,  the  more  un- 
certain I  am.  My  only  solution  lies  in  trust- 
ing my  hand,  which  knows  a  great  deal  more 


about  the  matter  than  I.     When  we  once 


212  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

begin  to  meditate  how  a  word  is  spelled,  how 
helpless  we  are!  It  is  better  to  drop  the 
question,  and  pick  up  the  dictionary.  In  all 
such  cases  consideration  tends  to  confuse. 

It  tends  to  delay,  too,  as  everybody  knows. 
To  survey  all  the  relations  in  which  a  given 
act  may  stand,  to  balance  their  relative  gains 
and  losses,  and  with  full  sight  to  decide  on 
the  course  which  offers  the  greatest  profit, 
would  require  the  years  of  Methuselah.  Bufcf 
at  what  point  shall  we  cut  the  process  short  ?V 
To  obtain  full  knowledge,  we  should  pass  in 
review  all  that  relates  to  the  act  we  propose ; 
should  inquire  what  its  remoter  consequences 
will  be,  and  how  it  will  affect  not  merely  my- 
self, my  cousin,  my  great-grandchild,  but  the 
man  in  the  next  street,  city,  or  state.  There 
is  no  stopping.  To  carry  conscious  verifica- 
tion over  a  moderate  range  is  slow  business. 
If  on  the  impulse  of  occasion  we  dash  off  an 
action  unreflectingly,  life  will  be  swift  and 
simple.  If  we  try  to  anticipate  all  conse- 
quences of  our  task  it  will  be  slow  and 
endless. 

Nor  need  I  dwell  on  the  fatigue  such  con- 
scious work  involves.  In  writing  a  letter,  we 
usually  sit  down  before  our  paper,  our  minds 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  213 

occupied  with  what  we  would  say.  We  allow 
our  fingers  to  stroll  of  themselves  across  the 
page,  and  we  hardly  notice  whether  they 
move  or  not.  If  anybody  should  ask,  "  How 
did  you  write  the  letter  s  ? "  we  should  be 
obliged  to  look  on  the  paper  to  see.  But  sup- 
pose, instead  of  writing  in  this  way,  I  come 
to  the  task  to-morrow  determined  to  superin- 
tend all  the  work  consciously.  How  shall  I 
hold  my  pen  in  the  best  possible  manner? 
How  shape  this  letter  so  that  each  of  its  curves 
gets  its  exact  bulge?  How  give  the  correct 
slant  to  what  is  above  or  below  the  line  ?  I 
will  not  ask  how  long  a  time  a  letter  prepared 
in  this  fashion  would  require,  or  whether  when 
written  it  would  be  fit  to  read,  for  I  wish  to  fix 
attention  on  the  exhaustion  of  the  writer.  He 
certainly  could  endure  such  fatigue  for  no 
more  than  a  single  epistle.  The  schoolboy,, 
when  forced  to  it,  seldom  holds  out  for  more 
than  half  a  page,  though  he  employs  every^ 
contortion  of  shoulder,  tongue,  and  leg  to! 
ease  and  diversify  the  struggle. 

A  dozen  years  ago  some  nonsense  verses 
were  running  through  the  papers,  —  verses 
pointing  out  with  humorous  precision  the 
very  infelicities  of  conscious  control  to  which 


214  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

I  am  now  directing  attention.  They  put  the 
case  thus :  — 

"  The  centipede  was  happy,  quite, 

Until  the  toad  for  fun 

Said,  '  Pray  which  leg  comes  after  which  ? ' 
This  worked  her  mind  to  such  a  pitch 
She  lay  distracted  in  a  ditch, 

Considering  how  to  run." 

And  no  wonder!  Problems  so  complex  as 
this  should  be  left  to  the  disposal  of  nature, 
and  not  be  drawn  over  into  the  region  of  spir- 
itual guidance.  But  the  complexities  of  the 
centipede  are  simple  matters  when  compared 
with  the  elaborate  machinery  of  man.  The 
human  mind  offers  more  alternatives  in  a  min- 
ute than  does  the  centipede  in  a  lifetime.  If 
spiritual  guidance  is  inadequate  to  the  latter, 
and  is  found  merely  to  hinder  action,  why  is 
not  the  blind  control  of  nature  necessary  for 
the  former  also  ?  Our  age  believes  it  is  and, 
ever  disparaging  the  conscious  world,  attaches 
steadily  greater  consequence  to  the  uncon- 
scious. "  It  is  the  unintelligent  me,"  writes 
Dr.  0.  W.  Holmes,  "  stupid  as  an  idiot,  that 
has  to  try  a  thing  a  thousand  times  before  he 
can  do  it  and  then  never  knows  how  he  does 
it,  that  at  last  does  it  well.  We  have  to  edu-A 
cate  ourselves  through  the  pretentious  claims! 


NATURE  AND  SPIRIT  215 

\  of  intellect  into  the  humble  accuracy  of  in- 
\  stinct  ;  and  we  end  at  last  by  acquiring  the 
1  dexterity,  the  perfection,  the  certainty  which 
;  those  masters  of  arts,  the  bee  and  the  spider, 
'inherit  from  nature." 


ex 


REFERENCES    ON    NATURE   AND   SPIRIT 

Green's  Prolegomena,  §  297. 

Dewey's  Study  of  Ethics,  §  xli. 

Seth's  Study  of  Ethical  Principles,  pt.  i.  ch.  3,  §  6. 

Alexander's  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  bk.  i.  ch.  i.  §  iii. 

Earle's  English  Prose,  p.  490-500. 

Palme*  in  The  Forum,  Jan.  1893. 


VIII 
THE   THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS 


vm 

THE   THREE   STAGES    OF   GOODNESS 


SUCH  is  the  mighty  argument  conducted 
through  several  centuries  in  behalf  of  nature 
against  spirit  as  a  director  of  conduct.  I 
have  stated  it  at  length  both  because  of  its 
own  importance  and  because  it  is  in  seeming 
conflict  with  the  results  of  my  early  chapters. 
But  those  results  stand  fast.  They  were 
reached  with  care.  To  reject  them  would  be 
to  obliterate  all  distinction  between  persons 
and  things.  Self-consciousness  is  the  indis- 
putable prerogative  of  persons.  Only  so  far 
as  we  possess  it  and  apply  it  in  action  do  we 
rise  above  the  impersonal  world  around.  And 
even  if  we  admit  the  contention  in  behalf 
of  nature  as  substantially  sound,  we  are  not 
obliged  to  accept  it  as  complete.  It  may  be 
that  neither  nature  nor  spirit  can  be  dispensed 
with  in  the  supply  of  human  needs.  Each 


220  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

may  have  its  characteristic  office ;  for  though 
in  the  last  chapter  I  have  been  setting  forth 
the  superiorities  of  natural  guidance,  in  spir-\ 
ifciial  guidance  there  ..are.  .ajdrantages^  ioo,  ad- 
vantages of  an  even  more  fundamental  kind. 
Let  us  see  what  they  are. 

They  may  be  summarily  stated  in  a  single 
sentence :  gfimsinTniTgnpaa  alnno  giyp,s  fresh  ip- 
itaatJ£fi~  Disturbing  as  the  influence  of  con- 
sciousness confessedly  is,  on  its  employment 
depends  every  possibility  of  progress.  Natu- 
ral action  is  regular,  constant,  conformed  to 
a  pattern.  In  the  natural  world  event  follows 
event  in  a  fixed  order.  Under  the  same  con- 
ditions the  same  result  appears  an  indefinite 
number  of  times.  The  most  objectionable 
form  of  this  rigidity  is  found  in  mechanism. 
I  sometimes  hear  ladies  talking  about  "  real 
lace  "  and  am  on  such  occasions  inclined  to 
speak  of  my  real  boots.  They  mean,  I  find, 
not  lace  that  is  the  reverse  of  ghostly,  but 
simply  that  which  bears  the  impress  of  per- 
sonality. It  is  lace  which  is  made  by  hand 
and  shows  the  marks  of  hand  work.  Little 
irregularities  are  in  it,  contrasting  it  with  the 
machine  sort,  where  every  piece  is  identical 
with  every  other  piece.  It  might  be  more 


THE  THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS      221 

accurately  called  personal  lace.  The  machine 
kind  is  no  less  real  —  unfortunately  —  but 
mechanism  is  hopelessly  dull,  says  the  same 
thing  day  after  day,  and  never  can  say  any- 
thing else. 

Now  though  this  coarse  form  of  monotonous 
process  nowhere  appears  in  what  we  call  the 
•world  of  nature,  a  restriction  substantially 
similar  does ;  for  natural  objects  vary  slowly 
and  within  the  narrowest  limits.  Outside 
such  orderly  variations,  they  are  subjected 
to  external  and  distorting  agencies  effecting 
changes  in  them  regardless  of  their  gains. 
Branches  of  trees  have  their  wayward  and 
subtle  curvatures,  and  are  anything  but  me- 
chanical in  outline.  But  none  the  less  are 
they  helpless,  unprogressive,  and  incapable  of 
learning.  The  forces  which  play  upon  them, 
being  various,  leave  a  truly  varied  record. 
But  each  of  these  forces  was  an  invariable 
one,  and  their  several  influences  cannot  be 
sorted,  judged,  and  selected  by  the  tree  with 
reference  to  its  future  growth.  Criticism 
and  choice  have  no  place  here,  and  accord- 
ingly anything  like  improvement  from  year 
to  year  is  impossible. 

The  case  of  us  human  beings  would  be  the 


222  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

same  if  we  \vere  altogether  managed  by  the 
sure,  swift,  and  easy  forces  of  nature.  Pro- 
gress would  cease.  We  should  move  on  our 
humdrum  round  as  fixedly  constituted,  as  sub- 
missive to  external  influence,  and  with  as  little 
exertion  of  intelligence  as  the  dumb  objects 
we  behold.  Every  power  within  us  would  be 
actual,  displayed  in  its  full  extent,  and  involv- 
ing no  variety  of  future  possibility.  We 
should  live  altogether  in  the  present,  and  no 
changes  would  be  imagined  or  sought.  From 
this  dull  routine  we  are  saved  by  the  admix- 
ture of  consciousness.  For  a  gain  so  great 
we  may  well  be  ready  to  encounter  those  diffi- 
culties of  conscious  guidance  which  my  last 
chapter  detailed.  Let  the  process  of  advance 
be  inaccurate,  slow,  and  severe,  so  only  there 
be  advance.  For  progress  no  cost  is  too 
great.  I  am  sometimes  inclined  to  congrat- 
ulate those  who  are  acute  sufferers  through 
self-consciousness,  because  to  them  the  door 
of  the  future  is  open.  The  instinctive,  un- 
critical person,  who  takes  life  about  as  it 
comes,  and  with  ready  acceptance  responds 
promptly  to  every  suggestion  that  calls,  may 
b_e_as ^popular  as  the  sunshine,  but  he,  is  aa 


incapable  of  further  advance.     Except  in  at- 


THE  THESE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS      223 

tractiveness,  such  a  one  is  usually  in  later  life 
about  what  he  was  in  youth  ;  for  progress  is 
a  product  of  forecasting  intelligence.  When 
any  new  creation  is  to  be  introduced,  only 
consciousness  can  prepare  its  path. 

Evidently,  then,  there  are  strong  advan- 
tages in  guidance  through  the  spirit.  But 
natural  guidance  has  advantages  no  less  genu- 
ine. Human  life  is  a  complex  and  demanding 
affair,  requiring  for  its  ever-enlarging  good 
whatever  strength  can  be  summoned  from  every 
side.  Probably  we  must  abandon  that  mag- 
nificent conception  of  our  ancestors,  that  spirit 
is  all  in  all  and  nature  unimportant.  But 
must  we,  in  deference  to  the  temper  of  our 
time,  eliminate  conscious  guidance  altogether  ? 
May  not  the  disparagement  of  recent  ages 
have  arisen  in  reaction  against  attempts  to 
push  conscious  guidance  into  regions  where 
it  is  unsuitable  ?  Conceivably  the  two  agen- 
cies may  be  supplementary.  Possibly  we  may 
call  on  our  fellow  of  the  natural  world  for 
aid  in  spiritual  work.  The  complete  ideal,  at 

A  ^^^^V^HWMMMMMMW^Mr 

any  rate,  of  goe-cL CQnduct..,uiii±es.  the-ssoft- 
ness,  certainty,  and  ease  of  .natural  action  with 
the  selectLYe.^iogr£Ssiveness-ef-sp«4ttial.  Till 
such  a  combination  is  found,  either  conduct 


224  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

will  be  insignificant  or  great  distress  of  self* 
consciousness  will  be  incurred.  Both  of  these 
evils  will  be  avoided  if  nature  can  be  per- 
suaded to  do  the  work  which  we  clearly  intend. 
That  is  what  goodness  calls  on  us  to  effect. 
To  showing  the  steps  through  which  it  may  be 
reached  the  remainder  of  this  chapter  will  be 
given. 

II 

Let  us,  then,  take  a  case  of  action  where 
we  are  trying  to  create  a  new  power,  to  de- 
velop ourselves  in  some  direction  in  which  we 
have  not  hitherto  gone.  For  such  an  under- 
taking consciousness  is  needed,  but  let  us  see 
how  far  we  are  able  to  hand  over  its  work  to 
unconsciousness.  Suppose,  when  entirely  igno- 
rant of  music,  I  decide  to  learn  to  play  the 
piano.  Evidently  it  will  require  the  minutest 
watchfulness.  Approaching  the  strange  in- 
strument with  some  uneasiness,  I  try  to  secure 
exactly  that  position  on  the  stool  which  will 
allow  my  arms  their  proper  range  along  the 
keyboard.  There  is  difficulty  in  getting  my 
sheet  of  music  to  stand  as  it  should.  When 
it  is  adjusted,  I  examine  it  anxiously.  What 
is  that  little  mark?  Probably  the  note  C. 


THE  THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS      225 

Among  these  curious  keys  there  must  also  be 
a  C.  I  look  up  and  down.  There  it  is  !  But 
can  I  bring  my  finger  down  upon  it  at  just 
the  right  angle  ?  That  is  accomplished,  and 
gradually  note  after  note  is  captured,  until  I 
have  conquered  the  entire  score. 

If  now  during  my  laborious  performance 
a  friend  enters  the  room,  he  might  well  say, 
"  I  do  not  like  spiritual  music.  Give  me  the 
natural  kind  which  is  not  consciously  directed. 
But  let  him  return  three  years  later.  He  will 
find  me  sitting  at  the  piano  quite  at  my  ease, 
tossing  off  notes  by  the  unregarded  handful. 
He  approaches  and  enters  into  conversation 
with  me.  I  do  not  cease  my  playing  ;  but  as 
I  talk,  I  still  keep  my  mind  free  enough  to 
observe  the  swaying  boughs  outside  the  win- 
dow and  to  enjoy  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers 
which  my  friend  has  brought.  The  musical 
phrases  which  drop  from  my  fingers  appear 
to  regulate  themselves  and  to  call  for  little 
conscious  regard. 

Yet  if  my  friend  should  try  to  show  me 
how  mistaken  I  had  been  in  the  past,  attempt- 
ing to  manage  consciously  what  should  have 
been  left  to  nature,  if  he  should  eulogize  my 
natural  action  now  and  contrast  it  with  my 


226  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

former  awkwardness,  he  would  plainly  be  in 
error.  My  present  naturalness  is  the  result 
_fif  Jong  spiritual-endeavor,  and  cannot  be  had 
on  cheaper  terms;  and  the  unconsciousness 
which  is  now  noticeable  in  me  is  not  the  same 
thing  as  that  which  was  with  me  when  I  began 
to  play.  It  is  true  the  incidental  hardships 
connected  with  my  first  attack  on  the  piano 
have  ceased.  I  find  myself  in  possession  of  a 
new  and  seemingly  unconscious  power.  An 
automatic  train  of  movements  has  been  con- 
structed which  I  now  direct  as  a  whole,  its 
parts  no  longer  requiring  special  volitional 
prompting.  But  I  still  direct  it,  only  that  a 
larger  unit  has  been  constituted  for  conscious- 
ness to  act  upon.  The  naturalness  which  thus 
becomes  possible  is  accordingly  of  an  alto- 
gether new  sort;  and  since  the  result  is  a 
completer  expression  of  conscious  intention,^, 
it  may  as  truly  be  called  spiritual  as  natural.  \ 

III 

It  has  now  become  plain  that  our  early 
reckoning  of  actions  as  either  natural  or  spir- 
itual was  too  simple  and  incomplete.  Conduct 
has  three  stages,  not  two.  Let  us  get  them 
clearly  in  mind.  At  the  beginning  of  life  we 


THE  THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS   227 

are  at  the  beck  and  call  of  every  impulse, 
not  having  yet  attained  reflective  command 
of  ourselves.  This  first  stage  we  may  rightly 
call  that  of  nature  or  of  unconsciousness,  and  I 
manifestly  most  of  us  continue  in  it  to  some 
extent  and  as  regards  certain  tracts  of  action 
throughout  life.  Then  reflection  is  aroused ;  c* 
we  become  aware  of  what  we  are  doing.  The 
many  details  of  each  act  and  the  relations 
which  surround  it  come  separately  into  con- 
scious attention  for  assessment,  approval,  or 
rejection.  This  is  the  stage  of  spirit,  or  con- 
sciousness. But  it  is  not  the  final  stage.  As 
we  have  seen  in  our  example,  a  stage  is  possi- 
ble when  action  runs  swiftly  to  its  intended 
end,  but  with  little  need  of  conscious  super- 
vision. This  mechanized,  purposeful  afitimy-  Q 
presents  conduct  in  its  third  stage,  that  of 
second  nature  or  negative  consciousness.  As 
this  third  is  least  understood,  is  often  confused 
with  the  first,  and  yet  is  in  reality  the  complete 
expression  of  the  moral  ideal  and  of  that 
reconciliation  of  nature  and  spirit  of  which 
we  are  in  search,  I  will  devote  a  few  pages 
to  its  explanation. 

The  phrase  negative  consciousness  describes 
its  character  most  exactly,  though  the  meaning 


228  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

is  not  at  once  apparent.  Positive  conscious- 
ness marks  the  second  stage.  There  we  are 
obliged  to  think  of  each  point  involved,  in  or- 
der to  bring  it  into  action.  In  piano-playing, 
for  example,  I  had  to  study  my  seat  at  the 
piano,  the  music  on  the  rack,  the  letters  of  the 
keyboard,  the  position  of  my  fingers,  and  the 
coordination  of  all  these  with  one  another. 
To  each  such  matter  a  separate  and  positive 
attention  is  given.  But  even  at  the  last,  when 
I  am  playing  at  my  ease,  we  cannot  say  that 
consciousness  is  altogether  absent.  I  am 
conscious  of  the  harmony,  and  if  I  do  not 
direct,  I  still  verify  results.  As  an  entire 
phrase  of  music  rolls  off  my  rapid  fingers,  I 
judge  it  to  be  good.  But  if  one  of  the  notes 
sticks,  or  I  perceive  that  the  phrase  might  be 
improved  by  a  slightly  changed  stress,  I  can 
check  my  spontaneous  movements  and  correct 
the  error.  There  is  therefore  a  watchful,  if 
not  a  prompting,  consciousness  at  work.  It 
is  true  that,  the  first  note  started,  all  the  others 
follow  of  themselves  in  natural  sequence. 
Though  I  withdraw  attention  from  my  fingers, 
they  run  their  round  as  a  part  of  the  associated 
train.  But  if  they  go  awry,  consciousness  is 
ready  with  its  inhibition.  I  accordingly  call 


THE  THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS      229 

this  the  stage  of  negative  consciousness.  In 
it  consciousness  is  not  employed  as  a  positive 
guiding  force,  but  the  moment  inhibition  or 
check  is  required  for  reaching  the  intended  re- 
sult, consciousness  is  ready  and  asserts  itself  in 
the  way  of  forbiddal.  This  third  stage,  there- 
fore, differs  from  the  first  through  having  its 
results  embody  a  conscious  purpose;  from  the 
second,  through  having  consciousness  superin- 
tend the  process  in  a  negative  and  hindering, 
rather  than  in  a  positive  and  prompting  way. 
It  is  the  stage  of  habit.  I  call  it  second  nature 
because  it  is  worked,  not  by  original  instincts, 
but  by  a  new  kind  of  associative  mechanism 
which  must  first  be  laboriously  constructed. 

Years  ago  when  I  began  to  teach  at  Harvard 
College,  we  used  to  regard  our  students  as  roar- 
ing animals,  likely  to  destroy  whatever  came 
in  their  way.  We  instructors  were  warned  to 
keep  the  doors  of  our  lecture  rooms  barred. 
As  we  came  out,  we  must  never  fail  to  lock 
them.  So  always  in  going  to  a  lecture,  as  I 
passed  through  the  stone  entry  and  approached 
the  door  my  hand  sought  my  pocket,  the  key 
came  out,  was  inserted  in  the  keyhole,  turned, 
was  withdrawn,  fell  back  into  my  pocket,  and 
I  entered  the  room.  This  series  of  acts  re- 


230  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

peated  day  after  day  had  become  so  mechan- 
ized that  if  on  entering  the  room  I  had  been 
asked  whether  on  that  particular  day  I  had 
really  unlocked  the  door,  I  could  not  have  told. 
The  train  took  care  of  itself  and  I  was  not 
concerned  in  it  sufficiently  for  remembrance. 
Yet  it  remained  my  act.  On  one  or  two  occa- 
sions, after  shoving  in  the  key  in  my  usual  un- 
conscious fashion,  I  heard  voices  in  the  room 
and  knew  that  it  would  be  inappropriate  to 
enter.  Instantly  I  stopped  and  checked  the 
remainder  of  the  train.  Habitual  though  the 
series  of  actions  was,  and  ordinarily  executed 
without  conscious  guidance,  it  as  a  whole  was 
aimed  at  a  definite  end.  If  this  were  unat- 
tainable, the  train  stopped. 

All  are  aware  how  large  a  part  is  played  by 
such  mechanization  of  conduct.  Without  it, 
life  could  not  go  on.  When  a  man  walks  to 
the  door,  he  does  not  decide  where  to  set  his 
foot,  what  shall  be  the  length  of  his  step, 
how  he  shall  maintain  his  balance  on  the  foot 
that  is  down  while  the  other  is  raised.  These 
matters  were  decided  when  he  was  a  child. 
In  those  infant  years  which  seem  to  us  intel- 
lectually so  stationary,  a  human  being  is  prob- 
ably making  as  large  acquisitions  as  at  any 


THE  THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS      231 

period  of  his  later  life.  He  is  testing  alterna- 
tives and  organizing  experience  into  ordered 
trains.  But  in  the  rest  of  us  a  consolidation 
substantially  similar  should  be  going  on  in 
some  section  of  our  experience  as  long  as  we 
live.  For  this  is  the  way  we  develop :  not 
the  total  man  at  once,  but  this  year  one 
tract  of  conduct  is  surveyed,  judged,  mecha- 
nized ;  and  next  year  another  goes  through 
the  same  maturing  process.  Not  until  such 
mechanization  has  been  accomplished  is  the 
conduct  truly  ours.  When,  for  example,  I 
am  winning  the  power  of  speech,  I  gradually 
cease  to  study  exactly  the  word  I  utter,  the 
tone  in  which  it  is  enunciated,  how  my  tongue, 
lips,  and  teeth  shall  be  adjusted  in  reference 
to  one  another.  While  occupied  with  these 
things,  I  am  no  speaker.  I  become  such  only 
when,  the  moment  I  think  of  a  word,  the 
actions  needed  for  its  utterance  set  them- 
selves in  motion.  With  them  I  have  only  a 
negative  concern.  Indeed,  as  we  grow  ma- 
turer  of  speech,  collocations  of  words  stick 
naturally  together  and  offer  themselves  to  our 
service.  When  we  require  a  certain  range 
of  words  from  which  to  draw  our  means  of 
communication,  there  they  stand  ready.  We 


232  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

have  no  need  to  rummage  the  dimness  o£  the 
past  for  them.  Mechanically  they  are  pre- 
pared for  our  service. 

Of  course  this  does  not  imply  that  at  one 
period  we  foolishly  believed  consciousness  to 
be  an  important  guide,  but  subsequently  be- 
coming wiser,  discarded  its  aid.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  mechanization  of  second  nature  is 
simply  a  mode  of  extending  the  influence  of 
consciousness  more  widely.  The  conclusions 
of  our  early  lectures  were  sound.  The  more 
fully  expressive  conduct  can  be  of  a  self-con- 
scious personality,  so  much  the  more  will  it 
deserve  to  be  called  good.  But  in  order  that 
it  may  in  any  wide  extent  receive  this  impress 
of  personal  life,  we  must  summon  to  our  aid 
agencies  other  than  spiritual.  The  more  we 
mechanize  conduct  the  better.  That  is  what 
maturing  ourselves  means.  When  we  say  that 
a  man  has  acquired  character,  we  mean  that 
he  has  consciously  surveyed  certain  large 
tracts  of  life,  and  has  decided  what  in  those 
regions  it  is  best  to  do.  There,  at  least,  he  will 
no  longer  need  to  deliberate  about  action. 
As  soon  as  a  case  from  this  region  presents 
itself,  some  electric  button  in  his  moral  or- 
ganism is  touched,  and  the  whole  mechanism 


THE  THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS      233 

runs  off  in  the  surest,  swiftest,  easiest  possible 
way.  Thus  his  consciousness  is  set  free  to 
busy  itself  with  other  affairs.  For  in  this 
third  stage  we  do  not  so  much  abandon  con- 
sciousness as  direct  it  upon  larger  units ;  and 
this  not  because  smaller  units  do  not  deserve 
attention,  but  because  they  have  been  already 
attended  to.  Once  having  decided  what  is 
our  best  mode  of  action  in  regard  to  them, 
we  wisely  turn  them  over  to  mechanical  con- 
trol. 

IV 

Such  is  the  nature  of  moral  habit.  Before 
goodness  can  reach  excellence,  it  must  be 
rendered  habitual.  Consideration,  the  mark 
of  the  second  stage,  disappears  in  the  third. 
We  cannot  count  a  person  honest  so  long  as 
he  has  to  decide  on  each  occasion  whether  to 
take  advantage  of  his  neighbor.  Long  ago 
he  should  have  disciplined  himself  into  ma- 
chine-like action  as  regards  these  matters,  so 
that  the  dishonest  opportunity  would  be  in- 
stinctively and  instantly  dismissed,  the  honest 
deed  appearing  spontaneously.  That  man  has 
not  an  amiable  character  who  is  obliged  to  re- 
strain his  irritation,  and  through  all  excitement 
and  inner  rage  curbs  himself  courageously. 


234  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

Not  until  conduct  is  spontaneous,  rooted  in  a 
second  nature,  does  it  indicate  the  character 
of  him  from  whom  it  proceeds. 

That  unconsciousness  is  necessary  for  the 
highest  goodness  is  a  cardinal  principle  in  the 
teaching  of  Jesus.  Other  teachers  of  his  na- 
tion undertook  clearly  to  survey  the  entirety 
of  human  life,  to  classify  its  situations  and 
coolly  to  decide  the  amount  of  good  and  evil 
contained  in  each.  Righteousness  according 
to  the  Pharisees  was  found  in  conscious  con- 
formity to  these  decisions.  Theirs  was  the 
method  of  casuistry,  the  method  of  minute, 
critical,  and  instructed  judgment.  The  fields 
of  morality  and  the  law  were  practically  iden- 
tified, goodness  becoming  externalized  and  re- 
garded as  everywhere  substantially  the  same 
for  one  man  as  for  another.  Pharisaism,  in 
short,  stuck  in  the  second  stage.  Jesus  em- 
phasized the  unconscious  and  subjective  fac- 
tor. He  denounced  the  considerate  conduct 
of  the  Pharisees  as  not  righteousness  at  all. 
It  was  mere  will-worship.  Jesus  preached  a 
religion  of  the  heart,  and  taught  that  right- 
eousness must  become  an  individual  passion, 
similar  to  the  passions  of  hunger  and  thirst, 
if  it  would  attain  to  any  worth.  So  long  aaJ 


THE  THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS      235 
pvil  is  f»fl,fiy  flnrl  tin/hira!  Inr  ng;  pnd    gft^H    dif- 


ficult, wq  are  evil.  WA  mnst.be  born  again. 
We  must  attain  a  new  nature.  Our  right 
hand  must  not  know  what  our  left  hand  does. 
We  must  become  as  little  children,  if  we 
would  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

The  chief  difficulty  in  comprehending  this 
doctrine  of  the  three  stages  lies  in  the  easy 
confusion  of  the  first  and  the  third.  Jesus 
guards  against  this,  not  bidding  us  to  be  or 
to  remain  children,  but  to  become  such.  The 
unconsciousness  and  simplicity  of  childhood  is 
the  goal,  not  the  starting-point.  The  uncon- 
sciousness aimed  at  is  not  of  the  same  kind  as 
that  with  which  we  set  out.  In  early  life  we 
catch  the  habits  of  our  home  or  even  derive 
our  conduct  from  hereditary  bias.  We  be- 
gin, therefore,  as  purely  natural  creatures,  not 
asking  whether  the  ways  we  use  are  the  best. 
Those  ways  are  already  fixed  in  the  usages  of 
speech,  the  etiquettes  of  society,  the  laws  of 
our  country.  These  things  make  up  the  un- 
criticised  warp  and  woof  of  our  lives,  often 
admirably  beautiful  lives.  When  speaking  in 
my  last  chapter  of  the  way  in  which  our  age 
has  come  to  eulogize  guidance  by  natural 
conditions,  I  might  have  cited  as  a  striking 


236  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

illustration  the  prevalent  worship  of  childhood. 
Only  within  the  last  century  has  the  child  cut 
much  of  a  figure  in  literature.  He  is  an  im- 
portant enough  figure  to-day,  both  in  and  out 
of  books.  In  him  nature  is  displayed  within 
the  spiritual  field,  nature  with  the  possibilities 
of  spirit,  but  those  possibilities  not  yet  real- 
ized. We  accordingly  reverence  the  child  and 
delight  to  watch  him.  How  charming  he  is, 
graceful  in  movement,  swift  of  speech,  pictur- 
esque in  action  !  Enviable  little  being  !  The 
more  so  because  he  is  able  to  retain  his  per- 
fection for  so  brief  a  time. 

But  we  all  know  the  unhappy  period  from 
seven  to  fourteen  when  he  who  formerly  was 
all  grace  and  spontaneity  discovers  that  he 
has  too  many  arms  and  legs.  How  disagree- 
able the  boy  then  becomes  !  Before,  we  liked 
to  see  him  playing  about  the  room.  Now  we 
ask  why  he  is  allowed  to  remain.  For  he  is 
a  ceaseless  disturber ;  constantly  noisy  and 
constantly  aware  of  making  a  noise,  his  ex- 
cuses are  as  bad  as  his  indiscretions.  He 
cannot  speak  without  making  some  awkward 
blunder.  He  is  forever  asking  questions  with- 
out knowing  what  to  do  with  the  answers. 
A  confused  and  confusing  creature  !  We  say 


THE  THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS   237 

he  has  grown  backward.  Where  before  he 
was  all  that  is  estimable,  he  has  become  all 
that  we  do  not  wish  him  to  be. 

All  that  we  do  not  wish  him  to  be,  but  cer- 
tainly much  more  what  God  wishes  him  to  be. 
For  if  we  could  get  rid  of  our  sense  of  annoy- 
ance, we  should  see  that  he  is  here  reaching 
a  higher  stage,  coming  into  his  heritage  and 
obtaining  a  life  of  his  own.  Formerly  he  lived 
merely  the  life  of  those  about  him.  He  laid 
a  self-conscious  grasp  on  nothing  of  his  own. 
When  now  at  length  he  does  lay  that  grasp, 
we  must  permit  him  to  be  awkward,  and  to 
us  disagreeable.  We  should  aid  him  through 
the  inaccurate,  slow,  and  fatiguing  period  of 
his  existence  until,  having  tested  many  tracts 
of  life  and  learned  in  them  how  to  mechanize 
desirable  conduct,  he  comes  back  on  their  far- 
ther side  to  a  childhood  more  beautiful  than 
the  original.  Many  a  man  and  woman  pos 
sesses  this  disciplined  childhood  through  life 
Goodness  seems  the  very  atmosphere  thej 
breathe,  and  everything  they  do  to  be  exactly 
fitting.  Their  acts  are  performed  with  ful 
self-expression,  yet  without  strut  or  intrusion 
of  consciousness.  Whatever  comes  from  them 
is  happily  blended  and  organized  into  the 


58  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

ptirety  of  life.      Such  should  be  our  aim. 
re  should  seek  to  be  born  again,  and  not  to 
[remain  where  we  were  originally  born. 

V 

In  what  has  now  been  said  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  comfort  for  those  who  suffer 
the  pains  of  self-consciousness,  previously  de- 
scribed. They  need  not  seek  a  lower  degree 
of  self-consciousness,  but  only  to  distribute 
more  wisely  what  they  now  possess.  In  full- 
ness of  consciousness  they  may  well  rejoice, 
recognizing  its  possession  as  a  power.  But 
they  should  take  a  larger  unit  for  its  exercise. 
In  meeting  a  friend,  for  example,  we  are  prone 
to  think  of  ourselves,  how  we  are  speaking  or 
poising  our  body.  But  suppose  we  transfer 
our  consciousness  to  the  subject  of  our  talk, 
and  allow  ourselves  a  hearty  interest  in  that. 
Leaving  the  details  of  speech  and  posture  to 
mechanized  past  habits,  we  may  turn  all  the 
force  of  our  conscious  attention  on  the  fresh 
issues  of  the  discussion.  With  these  we  may 
identify  ourselves,  and  so  experience  the  en- 
largement which  new  materials  bring.  When 
we  were  studying  the  intricacies  of  self-sacri- 
fice, we  found  that  the  generous  man  is_not_ 


THE  THESE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS      239 

so  much  the  self-denier  or  even  the  self-for- 
getter,  but  rather  he  who  is  mindful  of  his 
largejLSfllf.  He  turns  consciousness  from  his 
abstract  and  isolated  self  and  fixes  it  upon 
his  related  and  conjunct  self.  But  that  is  a 
process  which  may  go  on  everywhere.  Our  rule 
should  be  to  withdraw  attention  from  isolated 
minutiae,  for  which  a  glance  is  sufficient. 
Giving  merely  that  glance,  we  may  then  leave 
them  to  themselves.  Encouraging  them  to 
become  mechanized,  we  should  use  these  me- 
chanized trains  in  the  higher  ranges  of  living. 
The  cure  for  self-consciousness  is  not  suppress, 
sion,  but  the  turning  of  it  upon  something! 
more  significant. 

VI 

Every  habit,  however,  requires  perpetual  ad- 
justment, or  it  may  rule  us  instead  of  allow- 
ing us  to  rule  through  it.  We  do  well  to  let 
alone  our  mechanized  trains  while  they  do  not 
lead  us  into  evil.  So  long  as  they  run  in  the 
right  direction,  instincts  are  better  than  in- 
tentions. But  repeatedly  we  need  to  study 
results,  —  and  see  if  we  are  arriving  at  the 
goal  where  we  would  be.  If  not,  then  habit 
requires  readjustment.  From  such  negative 


240  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

control  a  habit  should  never  be  allowed  to 
escape.  This  great  world  of  ours  does  not 
stand  still.  Every  moment  its  conditions  are 
altering.  Whatever  action  fits  it  now  will  be 
pretty  sure  to  be  a  slight  misfit  next  year. 
'No  one  can  be  thoroughly  good  who  is  not  a 
flexible  person,  capable  of  drawing  back  his 
trains,  reexamining  them,  and  bringing  them 
into  better  adjustment  to  his  purposes. 

It  is  meaningless,  then,  to  ask  whether  we 
should  be  intuitive  and  spontaneous,  or  con- 
iderate  and  deliberate.  There  is  no  such 
alternative.  We  need  both  dispositions.  We 
should  seek  to  attain  a  condition  of  swift 
spontaneity,  of  abounding  freedom,  of  the 
absence  of  all  restraint,  and  should  not  rest 
satisfied  with  the  conditions  in  which  we  were 
3orn.  But  we  must  not  suffer  that  even  the 
new  nature  should  be  allowed  to  become  alto- 
ether  natural.  It  should  be  but  the  natu- 
ral engine  for  spiritual  ends,  itself  repeatedly 
scrutinized  with  a  view  to  their  better  fulfill- 
ment. 

VII 

The  doctrine  of  the  three  stages  of  conduct, 
elaborated  in  this  chapter,  explains  some  curi- 
ous anomalies  in  the  bestowal  of  praise,  and 


THE  THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS      241 

at  the  same  time  receives  from  that  doctrine 
farther  elucidation.  When  is  conduct  praise- 
worthy ?  When  may  we  fairly  claim  honor 
from  our  fellows  and  ourselves  ?  There  is  a 
ready  answer.  Nothing  is  praiseworthy  which 
is  not  the  result  of  effort.  I  do  not  praise  a 
lady  for  her  heauty,  I  admire  her.  The  ath- 
lete's splendid  body  I  envy,  wishing  that  mine 
were  like  it.  But  I  do  not  praise  him.  Or 
does  the  reader  hesitate  ;  and  while  acknow- 
ledging that  admiration  and  envy  may  be  our 
leading  feelings  here,  think  that  a  certain 
measure  of  praise  is  also  due  ?  It  may  be. 
Perhaps  the  lady  has  been  kind  enough  by 
care  to  heighten  her  beauty.  Perhaps  those 
powerful  muscles  are  partly  the  result  of 
daily  discipline.  These  persons,  then,  are  not 
undeserving  of  praise,  at  least  to  the  extent 
that  they  have  used  effort.  Seeing  a  collec- 
tion of  china,  I  admire  the  china,  but  praise 
the  collector.  It  is  hard  to  obtain  such  pieces. 
Large  expense  is  required,  long  training  too, 
and  constant  watchfulness.  Accordingly  I 
am  interested  in  more  than  the  collection.  I 
give  praise  to  the  owner.  A  learned  man  we 
admire,  honor,  envy,  but  also  praise.  His 
wisdom  is  the  result  of  effort. 


242  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

/  Plainly,  then,  praise  and  blame  are  attribu- 
(table  exclusively  to  spiritual  beings.  Nature 
is  unfit  for  honor.  We  may  admire  her,  may 
wish  that  our  ways  were  like  hers,  and  envy 
her  great  law-abiding  calm.  But  it  would  be 
foolish  to  praise  her,  or  even  to  blame  when 
her  volcanoes  overwhelm  our  friends.  We 
praise  spirit  only,  conscious  deeds.  Where 
self -directed  action  forces  its  path  to  a  worthy 
goal,  we  rightly  praise  the  director. 

Now,  if  all  this  is  true,  there  seems  often- 
times a  strange  unsuitableness  in  praise.  We 
may  well  decline  to  receive  it.  To  praise 
some  of  our  good  qualities,  pretty  fundamen- 
tal ones  too,  often  strikes  us  as  insulting. 
You  are  asked  a  sudden  question  and  put 
in  a  difficult  strait  for  an  answer.  "  Yes,"  I 
say,  "  but  you  actually  did  tell  the  truth.  I 
wish  to  congratulate  you.  You  were  suc- 
cessful and  deserve  much  praise."  But  who 
would  feel  comfortable  under  such  eulogy  ? 
And  why  not  ?  If  telling  the  truth  is  a  spir- 
itual excellence  and  the  result  of  effort,  why 
should  it  not  be  praised  ?  But  there  lies  the 
trouble.  I  assumed  that  to  be  a  truth-teller 
required  strain  on  your  part.  In  reality  it 
would  have  required  greater  strain  for  false- 


THE  THESE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS      243 


hood.  It  might  then  seem  that  I  should 
those  who  are  not  easily  excellent,  since  I  ai 
forbidden  to  praise  those  who  are.    And  some 
thing  like  this  seems  actually  approved. 
a  boy   on  the  street,  who  has  been  trained 
hardly  to  distinguish  truth  from  lies,  some  day 
stumbles  into  a  bit  of  truth,   I   may   justly 
praise  him.     "  Splendid  fellow  !     No  word  of 
falsehood  there  !  "     But  when  I  see  the  fa- 
ther of  his  country  bearing  his  little  hatchet, 
praise  is  unfit  ;  for  George  Washington  cannot. 
tell  a  lie. 

Absurd  as  this  conclusion  appears,  I  believe 
it  states  our  soundest  moral  judgment;  for 

jisenever  escapes  an  element  of  disparage- 


haj3p£nfiil.  If  I  praise  a  man  for  learning,  it 
is  because  I  had  supposed  him  ignorant  ;  if 
for  helping  the  unfortunate,  I  hint  that  I  did 
not  anticipate  that  he  would  regard  any  but 
himself.  Wherever  praise  appears,  we  cannot 
evade  the  suggestion  that  excellence  is  a  mat- 
ter of  surprise.  And  as  nobody  likes  to  be 
thought  ill-adapted  to  excellence,  praise  may 
rightly  be  resented. 

It  is  true,  there  is  a  group  of  cases  where 
praise  seems  differently  employed.     We  can 


244  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

praise  those  whom  we  recognize  as  high  and 
lifted  up.  "  Sing  praises  unto  the  Lord,  sing 
praises,"  the  Psalmist  says.  And  our  hearts 
respond.  We  feel  it  altogether  appropriate. 
We  do  not  disparage  God  by  daily  praise. 
No,  but  the  element  of  disparagement  is  still 
present,  for  we  are  really  disparaging  our- 
selves. That  is  the  true  significance  of  praise 
offered  to  the  confessedly  great.  For  them,  the 
praise  is  inappropriate.  But  it  is,  neverthe- 
less, appropriate  that  it  should  be  offered  by 
us  little  people  who  stand  below  and  look  up. 
Praising  the  wise  man,  I  really  declare  my 
ignorance  to  be  so  great  that  I  have  difficulty 
in  conceiving  myself  in  his  place.  For  me, 
it  would  require  long  years  of  forbidding 
work  before  I  could  attain  to  his  wisdom. 
And  even  in  the  extreme  form  of  this  praise 
of  superiors,  substantially  the  same  meaning 
holds.  We  praise  God  in  order  to  abase  our- 
selves. Him  we  cannot  really  praise.  That 
we  understand  at  the  start.  He  is  beyond 
commendation.  Excellence  covers  him  like  a 
garment,  and  is  not  attained,  like  ours,  by 
struggle  through  obstacles.  Yet  this  differ- 
ence between  him  and  us  we  can  only  express 
by  trying  to  imagine  ourselves  like  him,  and 


THE  THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS      245 

saying  how  difficult  such  excellence  would 
then  be.  We  have  here,  therefore,  a  sort 
of  reversed  praise,  where  the  disparagement 
which  praise  always  carries  falls  exclusively 
on  the  praiser.  And  such  cases  are  by  no 
means  uncommon,  cases  in  which  there  is  at 
least  a  pretense  on  the  praiser's  part  of  setting 
himself  below  the  one  praised.  But  praise 
usuaUy  proceeds  down  from  above,  and  then, 
implicitly,  we  disparage  him  whom  we  profess 
to  exalt. 

Nor  do  I  see  how  this  is  to  be  avoided ; 
for  praise  belongs  to  goodness  gained  by  ef- 
fort, while  excellence  is  not  reached  till  effort 
ceases  in  second  nature.  To  assert  through 
praise  that  goodness  is  still  a  struggle  is  to 
set  the  good  man  back  from  our  third  stage 
to  our  second.  In  fact  by  the  time  he  really 
reaches  excellence  praise  has  lost  its  fitness, 
goodness  now  being  easier  than  badness,  and 
no  longer  something  difficult,  unexpected,  and 
demanding  reward.  For  this  reason  those 
persons  are  usuaUy  most  greedy  of  praise 
who  have  a  rather  low  opinion  of  themselves. 
Being  afraid  that  they  are  not  remarkable, 
they  are  peculiarly  delighted  when  people 
assure  them  that  they  are.  Accordingly  the 


246  THE  NATURE  OF  GOODNESS 

greatest  protection  against  vanity  is  pride. 
The  proud  man,  assured  of  his  powers,  hears 
the  little  praisers  and  is  amused.  How  much 
more  he  knows  about  it  than  they  !  Inner 
worth  stops  the  greedy  ear.  When  we  have] 
something  to  be  vain  about,  we  are  seldom] 

vain. 

VIII 

But  if  all  this  is  true,  why  should  praise  be 
sweet  ?  In  candor  most  of  us  will  own  that 
there  is  little  else  so  desired.  When  almost 
every  other  form  of  dependence  is  laid  by,  to 
our  secret  hearts  the  good  words  of  neigh- 
bors are  dear.  And  well  they  may  be  !  Our 
pleasure  testifies  how  closely  we  are  knitted 
together.  We  cannot  be  satisfied  with  a 
separated  consciousness,  but  demand  that  the 
consciousness  of  all  shall  respond  to  our  own. 
A  glorious  infirmity  then  !  And  the  peculiar 
sweetness  which  praise  brings  is  grounded  in 
the  consciousness  of  our  weakness.  In  cer- 
tain regions  of  my  life,  it  is  true,  goodness 
has  become  fairly  natural ;  and  there  of 
course  praise  strikes  me  as  ill-adjusted  and  dis- 
tasteful. I  do  not  like  to  have  my  manners 
praised,  my  honesty,  or  my  diligence.  But 
there  are  other  tracts  where  I  know  I  am 


THE  THREE  STAGES  OF  GOODNESS       247 

still  in  the  stage  of  conscious  effort.  In  this 
extensive  region,  aware  of  my  feebleness  and 
hearing  an  inward  call  to  greater  heights,  it 
will  always  be  cheering  to  hear  those  about 
me  say,  "  Well  done !  "  Of  course  in  saying 
this  they  will  inevitably  hint  that  I  have  not 
yet  reached  an  end,  and  their  praises  will  dis- 
please unless  I  too  am  ready  to  acknowledge 
my  incompleteness.  But  when  this  is  ac- 
knowledged, praise  is  welcome  and  invigorat- 
ing. I  suspect  we  deal  in  it  too  little.  If 
imagination  were  more  active,  and  we  were 
more  willing  to  enter  sympathetically  the  in- 
ner life  of  our  struggling  and  imperfect  com- 
rades, we  should  bestow  it  more  liberally. 
Occasion  is  always  at  hand.  None  of  us  ever 
quite  passes  beyond  the  deliberate,  conscious, 
and  praise-deserving  line.  In  some  parts  of 
our  being  we  are  farther  advanced,  and  may 
there  be  experiencing  the  peace  and  assurance 
of  a  considerable  second  nature.  But  there 
too  perpetual  verification  is  necessary.  And  so 
many  tracts  remain  unsubdued  or  capable  of 
higher  cultivation  that  throughout  our  lives, 
perhaps  on  into  eternity,  effort  will  still  find 
room  for  work,  and  suitable  praises  may  at- 
tend it. 


REFERENCES    ON    THE    THREE    STAGES    OF 
GOODNESS 

James's  Psychology,  ch.  iv. 

Bain's  Emotions  and  the  Will,  ch.  ix. 

Wundt's  Facts  of  the  Moral  Life,  ch.  iii. 

Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics,  ch.  vii.  §  iii. 

Martineau's  Types  of  Ethical  Theory,  pt.  ii.  bk.  i.  ch.  iii. 


(€hf 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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